Just Like the Movies
by Lurking Grue
Summary: A story largely from Zoey's perspective as she experiences the zombie apocalypse.
1. The Dorm

Zoey thought she'd just been watching too many zombie movies. All the news reports had seemed familiar to her, the development of events too surreal for her to even accept. Some sort of outbreak of a virus that no one knew the source of. Riots had started, gradually at first, and then suddenly whatever was building hit a crescendo. The virus ran rampant (some were saying it was airborne and so she started wearing a facemask, thank god her roommate was an art major and had that sort of crap laying around) in crowded areas, then in rural areas... and then it was suddenly _everywhere_, unavoidable, and the government had been unable to do anything.

There was so little information that Zoey had wondered if it was some sort of terrorist attack. Other countries had started to report outbreaks when the news just_ stopped_. Then _television _stopped. There had been a lot of radio broadcasts for the first few days after that, but now they were few and far between. She kept the radio off. Noise was a bad idea.

Her dormitory had become a death trap. She'd thought they'd managed to stay relatively safe outside of the downtown area, but when her roommate had returned from the cafeteria covered in vomit, things had gone wrong.

"_This kid **puked **on me," Amanda had said in a shaky voice, "It was soooo gross. Ugh, I'm **covered**. I'm going to take a shower while the water is still working."_

She'd gone into the shower her roommate, and emerged some sort of screaming maniac, eyes dead white, face contorted in rage. Zoey had fended her off as best she'd been able, trying to reason with her friend, but Amanda had _bitten_ her like some sort of wild animal.

Zoey had rolled her corpse off the balcony, only realizing that she'd beaten her roommate to death with a metal T-square as soon as the body made a sick thump on the pavement below.

She had barricaded herself in her dorm after that. Currently, she was huddled in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. Waiting to _change_. It had been days (_Minutes? Hours? A week?_) and it hadn't happened. Had she even slept? Was that the first sign, loss of time? How long before she become some sort of 'roided up zombie? She'd cleaned the wound quickly of course, but even looking at it now, it didn't look all that bad. Sure she'd been bitten, but the wound hadn't turned black or anything else she might've expected. There weren't dark veins showing through her pale skin, no horrible pustules boiling up around the wound. She wasn't shivering and hungering for brains or human flesh.

Why?

The screams and howls of the infected filtered clearly through the thin dorm walls. Sometimes the screams seemed more terrified than enraged. There were other's that had closed themselves indoors early, like her, but apparently they weren't faring as well as she was.

Maybe they hadn't been able to bring themselves to kill their roommates.

She sat down in the bathtub, huddled up, and listened. There was some snarling outside, an occasional scuffle. Howls. Screams. An alarm went off and whipped the zombies into a frenzy, and she put her hands over her ears in an attempt to block out the awful howling. Were humans even _capable_ of making that kind of noise!? How much was the virus changing them? Their howling clawed its way through her fingers and chewed at her spine, making her shake, threatening to make her whimper. She knew what making sounds did, though. It brought them. They were base, lower than animals now. Zoey wasn't even sure they even ate the people they killed. It was completely senseless. _Unnatural_.

It died down once they'd found it and smashed it, but she kept her hands over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut, almost wishing she _would_ turn. How long would she last, barricaded inside her dorm? Eventually she'd... sneeze or cough or something and they'd come swarming. The walls were thin and the furniture barricading the door wouldn't hold forever. She was fucked, basically, and it was only a matter of time before it caught up with her. If the zombies didn't get her, she'd probably starve to death. All that they had in the dorm were some poptarts (blueberry, which she didn't even_ like_) and a half empty bag of twizzlers. Living off of twizzlers probably wasn't helping her mental and physical state, and it made her mouth feel like it was full of fuzz.

Running the tap might make noise, however, and so she didn't even try to brush her teeth. Basic hygiene was nothing compared to keeping _quiet_.

She should have gone home for break. Her parents were probably fine – she had quite a few worried voice mails from them, but she'd turned off her cell, terrified it would ring or beep at the wrong time. She would check in with them later. Somewhat wildly she imagined her father hiring mercenaries to come extract her, but what reason did they have to think she was still alive?

Zoey didn't want to die alone in her dorm room surrounded by zombies. Somehow, she was immune, and that meant there had to be others. She couldn't be the only one, right?

With new resolve, she crept through the living area and into Amanda's room, searching through her art box until she found a big red permanent marker. Zoey very, very carefully pulled back the curtains hanging over the sliding door that led out onto a small balcony. None of them had climbed up, and she couldn't see any out in the parking lot for some reason. It was light out. They shambled around a lot less during the day time. She'd take it.

Working quickly, squinting in the sunlight, she wrote her room number, her name, and that she was still alive, trapped in her dorm. She had no idea if she'd written the letters large enough to be seen from the street, but it was better than nothing. Her nerves were raw by the time she finished – standing in a plate glass window had been a massive risk – and she quickly retreated to the bathroom again. She propped a chair up under the door and huddled down onto the pillows and blankets she'd set up in the tub.

Sleep would put things in sharper relief. If she woke up a zombie, she wouldn't really care. If she woke up still human, she'd find some way out of her dorm. After all, she hadn't drank, hadn't smoked pot, and definitely hadn't had sex. That meant she'd at least make it to the end of the movie unscathed. Right?

* * *

Gunfire.

Zoey groaned and burrowed into her pillow. Was Amanda playing Gears 2 again? Why did she always turn the volume up so damn loud?

_Amanda was dead_.

_Zombies couldn't fire guns._

She was up in an instant, mind fighting to come into sharp focus and she tripped on the rim of the tub, stumbling into the chair and knocking it aside with a noisy clatter. Zoey froze, heart beating wildly, but the gunfire proved to be more of a distraction to the infected than her clumsiness. There were _people_ outside, shooting zombies. She needed to run out onto the balcony and wave at them before they left.

Oh god, they'd probably just shoot at her. And what if they weren't even good guys?

It was a ludicrous thought, but just because (_real people weren't good guys and bad guys_) it was a timely arrival didn't mean they were rescuers. Maybe they were sociopath's taking advantage of being able to murder people in droves. What if they tried to... to_ do_ things to her? She'd rather starve to death.

The gunfire died down and she surged into action, opening the bathroom door and hurrying over to her balcony. As she pulled the sliding door open (_bang, clatter, oh god they'd never greased the track_) she could hear voices. Actual _voices_, not moans or screams, and all her misgivings fled.

"HEY!" she shouted, stumbling into the railing and waving, eyes flicking around the lot desperately, "HEY, _UP HERE!_"

It was two men. Neither of them looked terribly friendly. One looked like he'd just come back from the set of Full Metal Jacket, and the other one was heavily tattooed, hair closely shorn. Both of them were looking up at her in obvious surprise.

"Check it out," the biker said to the older man, nudging him with an elbow.

Maybe the clattering of furniture hadn't alerted the zombies, but her screaming had, and she looked over her shoulder when she heard a loud bang. Her hastily positioned blockade shivered, and she turned back to the men down below.

"They're coming! I can't get out!" she shouted. Zoey wondered if she looked like a complete whackjob, eyes huge, knuckles white as she gripped the railing. She'd been quiet as a mouse this whole time. Why hadn't she just _waved_ at them, damn it!? It was evening – she could have clicked a flashlight in their direction. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_...

The two men exchanged words, and the biker nodded. While the older man took point, running towards the building, the biker watched his back, walking backwards quickly.

"The stairwell is inside," she shouted, glancing behind her to check on the zombie's progress. Not much yet, "I can't get down."

"Yes you can," the older man said. His grey eyes were steely and unsympathetic, his voice gravely but calm.

"How!?" she asked, her voice taking a shrill pitch when she heard splintering, "Oh my god they're getting through the door already!"

"Climb down," he called up to her, "Zoey, right?"

"Oh my god who the fuck cares_ help me!_" Zoey shrieked at him. She was panicking. Though she was aware of it, the awareness was hiding behind the panic, the fact that she was about to be swarmed by murderous zombies far outweighing her powers of reason just now.

"I'm Bill, Zoey," the old man said, "And these balconies are close enough together for you to climb down."

His complete calm struck a note with her. It made her_ angry_. She was about to be torn apart and he was talking to her like nothing all that urgent was going on.

"I'm not a fucking gymnast, _Bill!_" she said, looking over her shoulder. There was a hand grabbing through a hole in the door, and she could see more attempting to get through, crushing in on each other, the sight and smell and_ sound _of her whipping them into a frenzy. She could keep screaming at the two men down below, or she could at least _try_ what he was suggesting. Either she climbed down, fell and broke her neck, or got eaten by zombies.

"Fuck fuck _fuck_," Zoey said hoarsely, climbing up onto the railing. Her entire body was shaking from the the slight exertion. She'd been living off of sugar snacks and now adrenaline was flooding her system, making her hyper aware of how far a three story drop looked, how _quickly_ the zombies were tearing through her barricade. God, the_ sounds_ they made-

"You're doin' fine," Bill said, raising his pistols. Not at _her_, she noted, but in preparation. She'd spent too long swearing at them and they'd be swarming at her before she'd made it to the ground. _Awesome_. She wasn't the cute chick who'd make it to the end of the movie – she was the shrill, worthless damsel in distress that got a sufficiently gory death to satisfy the audience. That had to change. She'd start now, actually.

Zoey began to scale down her own balcony onto the one directly below her with a clenched jaw, trying not to think of zombies suddenly grabbing her and dragging her down or dragging her up.

"Shit, did you hear that?" she heard the biker mutter.

"Not now, Francis," Bill said sharply, not taking his eyes off of Zoey.

"Hunter," Francis (what the hell kind of biker name was _that?_) snapped. Zoey didn't know why he said the word with a twinge of fear, and she hoped she didn't find out.

"Your toes can just make it, Zoey," the old man coached, "Trust me, all right? We're all gonna get outta here alive. No zombies on the balcony under you."

Zoey resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut, swallowed, and dangled her legs. She squeaked when her foot bumped into another railing, and quickly planted both feet onto it.

"Careful," Bill said, "_Careful_. Take it easy. Don't rush."

She heard a loud crash and let go of her own balcony, and Zoey was positive it was pure luck that allowed her to grab onto the railing she was standing on before she fell. Bill inhaled sharply in alarm but didn't comment, and she let out a small laugh that probably sounded a little crazy. She could _do_ this. She was going to _live_.

Zoey was dangling one foot towards to the first floor balcony when she heard the screeching and she froze, looking up into dead white eyes. Then it's head exploded, showering her with gore (_Braaaiins!_), and she let out a disgruntled noise. Fucking _gross_.

"Francis!" Bill barked.

"There's a _hunter_ out there, man-"

"I'll look out for it, come _here_," Bill snarled, "Zoey, just let go. Francis will catch you. We need to go now."

Zoey looked down into the biker's face, who was looking at her somewhat incredulously, as though he doubted he'd be able to catch her. It wasn't encouraging, but the bullets whizzing past her and the zombie guts raining down on her would have to be encouragement enough.

"Now or never kid!" Francis said urgently, tucking his shotgun into the back of his vest, using it like a makeshift holster. He held out his heavily tattooed arms.

She looked upwards, into the faces of the howling zombies. They were starting to climb over after her. A few got jostled off by their eager fellows, hitting the pavement with meaty crunches, but not all of them were so clumsy. They were _determined_. Zoey counted to three in her head and let go, swallowing the urge to scream as she fell down. It wasn't a very long drop, but still...

"Gotcha," Francis grunted, stumbling back one step as she dropped into his arms, "All right, let's- _shit!_"

Something detached itself from the shadows and flung itself at both of them with a bloodthirsty scream. A shot rang out, stopping it in its tracks, and a body crumpled to the ground. Her only thought at that moment was that Francis needed a shower pretty bad. She'd much rather think about how bad the man smelled than whatever the fuck that screaming thing had been.

"Good shot old man," the biker smirked, looking down at Zoey, "You okay? Can you walk?"

"Can you run?" Bill asked. Some of the more nimble zombies were making their way down the building, swarming off of the balcony like malignant spiders.

"Yeah," she said. Francis set her on her feet and pulled his shotgun out, and she felt something metal pushed into her hand. Zoey looked down and blinked at the pistol Bill had placed in it.

"I've never shot a gun before," she said dumbly, stumbling once as Bill grabbed her arm and pulled her along.

"You'll figure it out," was all the old man said. He and Francis began to walk backwards slowly, firing into the zombies as they started to charge. There were a lot of them, but they were coming down to the lot in ones and twos, easy to pick off.

"Where're we goin'?" Francis asked between shots. Zoey shifted her eyes between the two of them, noting how their eyes seemed to be flicking everywhere at once. Bill was more methodical, perhaps checking places he suspected they might be ambushed from, while Francis just swept back and forth, taking in everything.

Neither of them was watching their backs, and so she decided she'd make herself useful, clutching the pistol rather uselessly as she walked in front of them. Zoey was pretty good at shooting in video games, but she wasn't deluded. It was probably a lot harder in reality.

"Is there anybody else in there, Zoey? Any more immunes?"

"No," she said quietly, frowning, "Immunes?"

"You been bitten or scratched?" Bill asked. She nodded, realized he wasn't looking at her, and instead made a small noise of acknowledgement, "And you aren't infected. So you're immune."

"Have you found a lot of survivors?" Zoey said. Both men were quiet for far too long, only gunshots breaking the silence.

"Just you," Francis grunted, "Reloadin'."

He paused and crouched, the action fluid and mechanical, and Bill covered him. They'd gotten this down to a science already, from what she could see.

"How did you guys meet up?" she asked.

"This big idiot got torn off his motorcycle right in front of me," Bill said, obviously relishing the retelling, "Didn't know they were chasing him because of the racket his bike was making."

"Yeah yeah," Francis growled. She was tempted to smile at their banter, but the whole zombie apocalypse thing kept it from actually reaching her lips. What had she just _done_, anyway? Lept off of her own balcony into the arms of a biker while some kooky vietnam vet covered him?

So in all of the Pittsburgh metro area, there were three of them still alive. Maybe that was an over dramatic way to think about it, but she'd expected a whole group to have shown up, not two men who'd lucked out and run into each other in the middle of a zombie infested city.

Maybe there were more people safe downtown, with sturdier buildings to fortify themselves in. And there had to be military bases holding out, right?

Assuming _they_ were all immune. Judging by the three of them, that was a rather dim hope.

"Where_ are_ we going to go?" Zoey asked. They were around a building now and stopped, reloading and checking their ammunition. She noted that they positioned themselves on either side of her automatically and she felt a bit stupid. Her shrieky performance on the balcony hadn't really portrayed her as a useful person, had it?

"Out into the country," Bill said, pulling a cigarette out of a packet in his front pocket. He lit it and savored the first inhale, blowing the smoke out of his nose before he spoke again, "But we should resupply first. You know this area Zoey?"

Both men looked at her and she nodded – this would be a good chance to prove herself.

"There's a CVS up the street," she said, pointing in the direction she meant, "And I know there's a Walmart too, closer to the expressway."

She'd been in the CVS, and Walmart had turned out to be a good place to scrounge for horror flicks. The latter she'd only gotten to via bus or cab, but she'd done it enough that she could remember the way. Probably. If they didn't know the area, just how far had they traveled? God, she wanted to ask them, but they were both so focused on not getting their brains eaten (or _beaten_ in, or _whatever_ it was these zombies liked) that she wasn't sure how to bring up her questions without annoying them. They'd just saved her little ass from certain doom.

She realized she hadn't even thanked them, but as she opened her mouth too, Bill started up again.

"Walmart's probably FUBAR'd but we'll take a look anyway. CVS'll do for now," Bill said. Francis rolled a shoulder and started down the street and Zoey followed him, feeling a bit dwarfed between the two men. Francis was huge, and even though Bill was hunched, he was still taller than her. Both of them were slouching, actually, but Francis was tall enough that it didn't make much of a difference. She imitated their postures, feeling silly, but they had to be doing it for a reason, right? It was stealthy or something.

"How long have you guys been-"

"Cut the chatter," Bill said sharply, keeping his voice low, "And keep your ears open."

Zoey glanced behind her at the older man and frowned. _Cut the chatter?_ She'd been holed up by herself for god knew how many days and he wanted her to _shut up?_ She only had a _billion_ questions to ask both of them.

Forced into silence, she tried to decide which characters Francis and Bill were. Were either of them the guy who actually wasn't immune and would turn on them the second things went wrong? Or maybe one of them was the guy who'd turn on them to save their own skin. Either of them could be that one, but it was impossible to tell – she'd only just met them.

For now, for her own mental health, she'd assume they were all main characters. Hopefully tense ambush music wasn't playing-

"Oof!" she squeaked, walking straight into the biker. He shot her a look over his shoulder, having come to a stop. He'd even raised his hand to signal he was stopping, but she'd been too absorbed in her movie head game. God_dammit_, she needed to get her shit together before they ditched her.

"Over there," Francis said quietly, crouching down. Zoey followed suit, and so did Bill, the latter crushing his cigarette out on the pavement.

"How many?" Bill asked, squinting at the front of the CVS. The front window's were cracked and the door looked like it had been battered down.

"Like five in front," Francis said after a pause, "Prolly more inside. Let's get em'."

"Not so fast, hot shot," the older man said, creeping forward slightly. Zoey thought he was awfully spry for an old man. She almost spared a moment to wonder about her grandparents, but it seemed like a poor time to worry about that sort of thing. Swallowing hard, she squeezed her hands around the pistol for comfort, eying the shambling infected warily.

"What?" the biker hissed, "We can take em'."

"We should work our way around back," Bill said, "Make sure there aren't any surprises."

Francis grunted and nodded, glancing at Zoey and then at Bill. She could almost hear him say 'you wait here' but Bill shook his head and Francis scowled, saying nothing instead. Zoey had heard all the clichéd jokes about men being able to communicate through grunts, but with _looks?_

"All right let's move," Francis said, getting to his feet, still crouched, prowling for the alley. Zoey followed quickly and Bill brought up the rear again. Her eyes were fixed on the zombies, holding her breath, but they seemed more preoccupied with shambling than ripping them to pieces just now. Why was that? They looked almost dejected in a way, but she definitely wasn't about to start sympathizing with the undead.

Once they were in the alley she heard a soft click and a flashlight came on, illuminating a path in front of them. Francis paused a moment and passed it back to Zoey, and she did her best to hold it steady. Her success was minimal – she was shaking.

"One shot and they'll _all _come runnin'," Bill warned quietly. Francis snorted in reply and stood, pressing his back to the wall. He nodded at Zoey and flicked his eyes at the back alley.

"Francis," Bill hissed. His tone was clearly one of disapproval.

"No, I can do it," Zoey insisted in a hushed voice. She didn't bother trying to hide that she was afraid - they were surrounded by zombies and Zoey wasn't going to pretend that it wasn't fucking with her. Taking a deep breath, she swung a flashlight into the alley, unable to help a small squeak of anticipatory alarm as she confronted... and empty alley.

"It's clear," she said, exhaling a shivery breath. The exhilaration washed over her and she realized she was half smiling after a moment. Francis winked and nudged her as he walked past, the action chummy, but it still made her stumble a little.

"Jackass," Bill muttered, though he seemed to be talking to himself. He was staring down the way they'd come, making sure nothing was following them, and Francis checked the back door of the CVS. He grabbed the handle and turned it a few times.

"Locked," he said, "Satisfied?"

"Break it down," the older man said, "We're gonna have to shoot these goddamn zombies either way, might as well be here where we can funnel them."

"Better hope Walmart's got ammo with all this shootin'," Francis said, bracing himself a moment before hurling his shoulder at the locked door with a grunt. The loud thump it made caused Zoey to wince and she raised her gun, willing her hand to stop shaking. She'd beaten one to death – shooting one would be easier, right?

Francis rubbed his shoulder for a second before he charged the door again, flying right through it with a yelp of alarm. Apparently the door hadn't been as sturdy as he'd thought.

"Oh!" Zoey gasped, automatically going to check if he was all right. She swung the flashlight around at him and found Francis brushing bits of door off of himself and muttering. Zoey couldn't help but let out a small laugh. Kicking it down might have been more prudent – Francis wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, was he?

Then she heard a hiss and snapped her flashlight up. The light reflected off many dead white eyes, all of them fixed on either her or Francis. Zoey froze as they started to charge, snarling inarticulately, and she could hear Bill's pistol firing just outside in the alley. All the racket had gotten their attention.

"Keep that light on em!" Francis bellowed, bashing one of the closer ones away from him with the butt of his shotgun before firing on it, "Don't just _stand _there, princess, _shoot_ the fuckin' things!"

Zoey took aim, hesitated, and pulled the trigger. The gun jumped in her hand, and she nearly dropped both the flashlight _and_ the gun, but miraculously she held on, eyes wide as she watched one of the zombies slump over. She'd pegged it right between the eyes. Pure luck, of course, but she felt proud of herself anyway. Maybe video games and horror movies _hadn't_ been a worthless waste of time.

"Nice!" the biker laughed. He'd taken out the other five while she stood there in a daze, a slight sneer on his face. He was more annoyed by the zombies than afraid, apparently. Francis glanced over at her, noting her expression, and rested the shotgun on his shoulder, "Relax. They ain't human no more. Hey, Bill!"

Bill backed into the stock room with them, his expression still a grim mask. Zoey suspected that he had looked like that even before everything had gone straight to hell.

"Clear outside," Bill said, "How many in here?"

"Not a whole lot," Francis said, "Told yah."

"We're lucky more didn't come," the old man scowled, "I'll check the coolers back here. Francis, Zoey, go out front and see if there's anything left."

"Roger," Francis said. He opened the door to the actual store, glanced it over once, and motioned for Zoey to follow him, "All clear, honey."

"Zoey," she corrected quietly. For a bit there she'd been tempted to label him 'tough biker with a heart of gold' but now she was leaning towards 'sleazy biker guy' instead. Princess? _Honey?_ Was he for real?

Francis didn't respond and moved into the store, feeling around on a wall next to him. There was a loud click and the lights blinked on, though one had been somehow torn off its fastening, flickering spastically near the front of the store.

"Power's still on," Zoey said quietly, more to herself than the biker. He didn't respond again and moved into the aisles, shrugging off a pack that looked mostly empty. She wandered away from him into another aisle, just taking things in now that it was quiet. Pillaging CVS for supplies just to travel to Walmart, huh? It wasabout ten minutes by bus if the traffic was light. Maybe a half hour walk.

She hoped the Walmart wasn't packed with redneck zombies. Picking up a backpack would make her feel a bit more useful, and she was determined to prove herself to both men. It had been a rough start, but she didn't want to be _that chick_, the one she was always annoyed with when she watched movies. The one that she rooted for the monsters to kill. She wanted to live to the end credits because she was a badass, not because she had boobs and all the male characters threw themselves in harm's way for her.

Zoey glanced at the shelves near her and tilted her head, pursing her lips, wondering if she ought to grab some more _personal _supplies. They never really covered _this_ in zombie movies. Maybe the stress would keep her from needing them...?

Francis looked up when she walked into the aisle he was in, his eyes moving to the cheerful pink package in her hand, and he grimaced.

"Sorry," she said, flushing at his reaction, somewhat irritated by it. Like she could help it! He opened the bag with a disgruntled snort and she tossed in the frilly box. It looked out of place amongst the cans and boxes, and she looked at the other shelves instead, reaching out and grabbing a tub of peanut butter as well. God real food sounded _great_ right about now. She was running on fumes.

Francis stood, keeping the bag open, and she could feel his eyes on her. She decided she didn't much care for being alone with someone double her size. He was covered in tattoo's, he shaved his head, and he smelled like... like old spice, cigarette smoke, motor oil, and something _rank_. Zombie guts, maybe? Then again, maybe _she_ was the one who smelled like zombie guts.

She turned to place the peanut butter into the backpack, not looking at him. Where was Bill? The old man hadn't made a sound and she wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

As though summoned by her thought, he stepped into view at the end of the aisle, shouldering a now laden pack.

"Got lots of water," Bill said, "And some of that gatorade crap."

"Any beer?" Francis asked hopefully, "Sometimes these places sell tallboys."

"You've gotta be shitting me, Francis," the old man growled.

"You can't tell me you couldn't go for a drink!" Francis protested, and Bill let out a weary sigh, taking his beret off a moment to run a hand through his thinning white hair.

"If I start drinkin' now I ain't gonna stop," Bill said, "Let's keep movin'. That light's makin' me nervous."

Francis grunted and grabbed a loaf of bread, sitting it on top of everything else before zipping the pack up. He shouldered it and made a shooing motion at Zoey, and she scurried out in front of him to follow close behind Bill.

"Should we travel during the day?" Zoey whispered, "They seem pretty spaced out during the day."

"That's the best time to sleep," Bill said curtly, "Cut the chatter now. We can play twenty questions when we're safe."

Zoey frowned but didn't argue. His harsh words didn't _seem_ personal, it was just how he was. Maybe. Maybe he just didn't like her. She honestly couldn't blame him. Having a spoiled college (_dropout_) girl following him around probably hadn't been high on his list of priorities.

They wound their way through the streets at a pace that seemed painfully slow. All the creeping, crouching, and just _waiting_ was making her muscles burn. Exhaustion was settling in fast, and the fact that she felt ravenous didn't do much to improve her situation.

She'd tough it out, though. Somehow. She _had _too.

"Look, there," Bill whispered, pointing across the street. Someone had spray painted a white house with a white cross inside on a building, and an arrow pointing into the alleyway. The sign overhead announced the building as a self storage facility. It didn't get much safer than a heavy steel door, right?

"What the fuck is that supposed ta mean?" Francis said, crouching in close behind both of them.

"We should check it out," the veteran insisted, "Could be another survivor."

Crossing the street wasn't a slow creep. It was wide open and so they ran, and she nearly stumbled and fell, her legs rubber. Bill caught her arm and kept her steady.

"Just a little farther," he assured her quietly, "You're doin' great, kid."

She offered him a thin smile. Zoey hadn't considered herself a kid for awhile, but compared to these two, she wondered just how many years she was their junior. Maybe twenty in Francis' case, though being a ruffian might've aged him prematurely. His face was angular and square, his scruffy goatee not doing much to make him look young. At least forty or fifty in Bill's case, but he was doing better than she was, wasn't he?

"Look," Bill said, pointing down at the end of the alley. One of the doors had a floodlight pointed at it, the extension cord running under the heavy door, and the door itself had been painted a vibrant fire engine red.

"Gotta be somebody in there," Francis agreed. There was an eagerness in his voice, and she realized that she wasn't the only one who was kind of bummed out about the whole zombie thing. They were all alone in a big city. No wonder they'd come to investigate her sign.

All three of them moved forward and Bill gently rapped on the steel door, not wanting to make a racket.

"Hey," he said, speaking in a normal voice. After all their whispering it sounded like he was shouting and Zoey winced involuntarily. Francis automatically turned to face the way they'd come, shotgun ready.

There was nothing and Bill grasped the handle, turning it and pushing inwards. The handle rattled, the sound echoing out, and he swore.

"Open up god_dammit_," he snarled, giving in to frustration and kicking it.

"Hello!?" a voice on the other side called out hesitantly. Whoever was inside must've thought they were hearing things.

"There are three of us out here. Immune," Bill said, quickly recovering, "We're dead tired. Can you let us in?"

"Yeah! Yeah, just... hold on a second, I really wedged this bar tight-"

"What's that noise? Oh my god is that _them?_" Zoey asked.

Zoey looked up when she heard a terrible howl. It sounded like a whole stadium's worth of monsters screaming into the night, followed swiftly by feet pounding pavement. Bill's fit had somehow stirred them up. Why now!? The gunfire didn't phase them but _shouting_ did?

"Hurry," Bill urged.

"Party time," Francis said with relish, crouching down to steady his aim.

They burst into the alley suddenly, screeching and reaching for the three of them. It wasn't hunger for brains or flesh that was driving them – they looked _enraged_, just like Amanda had. And dear god they were running so _fast!_

"Hurry!" Bill repeated, "We're getting' swarmed!"

"I'm tryin'!" the man on the other side said urgently, "It's stuck! _It's stuck!_"

Francis began to fire his shotgun into the throng, the narrow alley working to his advantage for the moment. Bill fired his handgun as well, and Zoey followed suit, yelling back at them without realizing it.

"Shit!" Francis announced. The zombies were right on top of them – on top of _him_ since he was right in front – and he'd gone through all his shells. Reloading was probably difficult with a zombie horde on top of him. He started to swing at them with the gun instead and Zoey continued to squeeze the trigger of her pistol even after she'd burned through the entire clip.

"Get in!"

A hand grabbed her and shoved her inside and she stumbled backwards with a cry of alarm.

"You okay?" the new man asked, catching her shoulders and keeping her from falling over. He was bald, properly shaved instead of just buzzed, and he looked appropriately frazzled. Bill staggered inside after her and the man stood to check on him next. He had handgun as well, she noticed. God Bless America.

"Get off me you fuckin' vampires!" Francis snarled outside. There was a wet crunch as he caved in one of their skulls and she shakily got to her feet. The biker stumbled back while Bill and the new guy dragged the heavy door shut. Francis sat down hard on his ass, having lost his balance backpedaling, and the other two rammed the bar back into place. The pounding echoed inside of the room for what seemed like forever and no one spoke, staring at it.

The door held. Eventually, the zombies gave up, though the occasional scratch and thump still rang out from the more determined ones.

All three of them turned to look at the resident of the safe house and he let out a nervous laugh.

"I'm Louis," he introduced, "This uh... I didn't make this place. I just sort of found it this way. Check it out."

He gestured around the storage unit. Someone had set it up like a waiting room. There were a few couches laid out, some rattier than others. Some milk crates propped up a radio, and they'd even bashed a hole through the concrete to a bathroom that must've been a part of the rental office. The door to the main office itself was boarded up and reinforced heavily.

One of the walls had a large corkboard and that secured Zoey's attention. It was plastered with notices, and those that couldn't fit on the board had been taped to the wall. Some people had even scribbled messages on the wall with permanent marker.

It was survivor's leaving notes for family members and friends. Fliers with pictures on them, asking other's too look out for them or for specific people. Warnings from the CDC, CEDA, and the government were plastered up as well, covered in rude and angry graffiti.

There were only four of them in the safe house now, though. What had happened to all the people who'd been in here before them?

Maybe they'd gone to Walmart.

The three men were talking quietly but she ignored them, instead reading all the notices and notes and posters. The virus was airborne according to some, but others claimed the theory was bullshit. Zoey was inclined to agree. These weren't your shambling, Night of the Living Dead zombies. They were more along the lines of 28 Days Later. Only with puke.

The amount of people separated from their families was the worst part and she hugged herself, feeling suddenly small and bedraggled. Would she see _her_ family again? Would she even make it through the rest of the week alive?

Zoey wasn't even sure how many days she'd really been holed up in her dorm room. She swallowed hard and hugged herself harder, fingers curling into her hoodie and squeezing. Everything was catching up to her, the reality of the situation smashing into her head like a cinder block.

The only people she knew that were alive were a crotchety vietnam vet, a scummy biker, and a smartly dressed businessman. Or, at least, he had been once. He'd ditched his suitcoat and loosened his tie, but he still had rather expensive looking shoes on and a rolex - she recognized that sort of thing because her father dressed in a similar fashion.

She looked over at them and realized all three were looking at her. It was Bill who spoke up, approaching her with a blanket.

"Why don't you go lie down, Zoey," he suggested, handing the blanket to her. She accepted it numbly and nodded, shuffling over to one of the couches and sitting down, hugging the blanket tightly to her chest.

"Where did you say you found her?" Louis asked quietly, "She looks pretty young."

"The dorms near the University," Bill replied, "It was a goddamn shitmess, all those kids shambling around."

She didn't care that they were talking about her. They probably thought she was too absorbed in herself to notice, but the fact was she just didn't _care_. Everything was fucked up. _Completely_ fucked up. She'd been on the phone with her father a few weeks ago. He'd been yelling at her about her grades, about how she'd better shape up, about how _disappointed_ he was...

"She's gonna wig out," Francis observed. His quiet voice wasn't terribly quiet even when he tried, and the other two men glared at him.

"She's been through a lot," Bill said, "Leave her be, Francis. She's tougher than she looks."

Francis snorted but was inclined to comply with Bill's orders, flopping down onto a couch with a groan. He ran a hand over his face and scratched his chin.

"I killed my roomate," Zoey said suddenly. She'd been thinking about it the entire time in the back of her mind. How the black 'T' end had sank into Amanda's temple easily, like her skull had turned to mush. Her brains had oozed out and she'd dropped like a sack of potatoes, body twitching, face contorting in her death throes.

There was silence for a few minutes. She had their attention again.

"Did she turn?" Louis asked warily.

"She ran at me, screaming like... like I don't even know how to describe it," Zoey said, crushing the folded blanket to her chest. Her eyes clouded but she refused to cry. Not in front of three grown men. She'd made enough of an ass of herself, and bawling would only make it worse.

"It ain't pretty when your own come at yah," Francis agreed quietly, unsettled. There was a margin of respect in his eyes now, and it helped her keep her composure.

"You did what you had too," Bill said.

"I rolled her body off the balcony," she said, gulping, "That sound was awful too, when she hit the pavement. How could I have done that?"

"You're a survivor," the veteran said, "You'll do worse before we see this through. Toughen up, kid."

"Man, _you_ give her a break," Louis said quietly, "She's gotta get it outta her system sometime."

"Is that what you want to do, Zoey? To get it out of your system?" Bill said. His voice was harsh, demanding, and she glared at him blearily. The smirk that pulled at his lips was exceptionally dry, "I didn't think so. You're made of sterner stuff. Get some sleep. We've got a long walk tomorrow."


	2. The Walmart

Dreamless sleep left her feeling sluggish when she woke up, uncertain for how long she'd even slept, or if she'd slept at all. Zoey wiped a hand at her eyes and sat up slowly, re-acclimating to her bizarre circumstances. Louis had his back to the room where he slept, lean frame pressed into the couch like he was trying to merge with it. Francis was sprawled on his back, one leg dangling over the armrest of his couch, the other flat on the floor, head propped on the opposite arm rest. He wasn't snoring at least, but he didn't look terribly comfortable on the too-small surface. She realized with a small amount of relish that she'd curled up on the biggest couch and had barely used half of it.

Where was Bill?

She heard the toilet flush and turned around, and Bill nodded at her when he came out, still cinching his belt.

"Mornin'," he said quietly, "Or evenin', if you want to focus in on the details. You hungry?"

Zoey nodded and got up, folding her blanket for something to do while Bill went through Francis' pack. Even though it was sitting right next to the biker, he didn't so much as stir while the older man went through the supplies.

Bill looked surprised to see the loaf of bread, but set it aside. It was half-crushed, which didn't surprise Zoey all that much He found the peanut butter near the top a moment later and set it out, glancing at her.

"I picked out the peanut butter," she admitted. The old man almost cracked a smile.

"There'r plastic utensils in my pack. I'll get em'," he said. Bill went to do just that, the loud zip from his pack causing Louis to stir. He stretched stiffly and looked at them, keeping to himself for now. Zoey offered him a smile and he returned it.

She made her first sandwich on some of the unsquished slices, heaping the peanut butter on and savoring every bite of it. By the time she'd started making her second, Louis was in on the action as well, and even Bill made one in favor of whatever they usually ate.

Francis was still asleep, and Bill took it upon himself to slap his fuzzy, scarred skull, making him snort and crack an eye open.

"What?" the biker snarled.

"Get your ass up," Bill suggested, "We need to move out soon."

Cursing colorfully under his breath Francis sat up, running one hand over his head. He noted the half demolished loaf of bread and scowled.

"Thanks for savin' me the squished bread, assholes," he said. Francis stood and stretched with a loud groan, slouching over to the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.

"Not a morning person huh?" Louis asked with a smirk.

"That's putting it lightly," Bill said.

Zoey wondered if now would be a good time to start asking all her questions. They hadn't headed out yet, and really, this safe room seemed like a good place to hold out for awhile. Maybe some more survivor's would turn up. They were close to supplies, plumbing and electricity was still working... why risk everything by going out into the open?

"We should stay here awhile," Zoey said, glancing at Louis, "How long have you been here?"

"Two days," Louis said, glancing at Bill, "We talked about it last night, while you were sleeping. Believe me, I'd rather not creep around out there but we can't stay in here forever. We've got to get somewhere more long term. Eventually the power'll go out. So will the water."

Zoey frowned. They'd made plans while she was asleep? She was tempted to be offended by that, but she couldn't blame them, either. They couldn't just put everything on hold because she was a sleepy Pete.

"Have you been listening to the radio?" she asked Louis, "Has anyone found out what's going on?"

"All the official stuff is just looped recordings that are a week old," he told her, "The rest is crazies holed up in basements making stuff up. There was an evacuation zone at Point Park but..."

Louis trailed off and shrugged his shoulders a little, "It was overrun when I checked it. Maybe we'll find one that isn't."

"Judging by the amount of immunes I've seen we'll be lucky if we do," Bill said, "I didn't even bother with Point Park."

"How many have you seen?" Louis asked.

"Counting me? Four."

The bathroom door banged open, making all three of them jump, and Francis sat heavily on the couch.

"Won't be long," he said, addressing his statement to Bill, "Just gonna scarf some food."

"How long do you think it'll take us to get to Walmart?" Louis said.

"Most of the night," Bill said, "Depending on how bad it is, it might take two nights. Hard to say."

The prospect of taking two whole days to head to the superstore without even really knowing if it was overrun or picked clean was a sobering one. Francis choked down at least four sandwiches before stuffing the remains of the loaf and the tub of peanut butter back into his pack. To his credit, he practically inhaled them, and they headed back out into the alley right at dusk.

It was like stepping into another world. Zoey was reluctant to leave the safe house and cast a backwards glance at it as Louis closed it behind them. The bright red paint seemed cheerful in the gloom, the faint hum of the floodlight comforting.

Louis put a tentative hand on her shoulder and offered her an encouraging smile, "I'm sure there are other ones like this. Hell, maybe other lucky guys like me who're hiding out in one and waiting to join up with some other survivor's."

She smiled back at him. Though she barely knew any of these men, and though Bill and Francis had saved her ass, she decided she liked Louis the best. He wasn't somewhat scary, or mostly grumpy – he was just a regular person making the best of things like she was. Besides, if he could make it, maybe her parents were okay too. Hell, that _she_ had survived was encouragement enough.

"Cut the chatter," Bill said. Zoey rolled her eyes for Louis' benefit and he smirked, but the two of them crept up behind Bill and Francis without argument.

"Most of that mob from last night dispersed," Bill said quietly, "Let's hope we don't have to shoot anything on the way."

His mention of the mob they'd barely escaped made Zoey check her (Bill's?) pistol, remembering how it had been clicking, out of bullets. At some point last night somebody had put in a new magazine. Again she was reminded that she still hadn't thanked her rescuers, and again, it wasn't a very appropriate time to do so.

"Francis, cover the rear," Bill ordered. Francis didn't seem like the type who listened to anyone bar himself, but the authority in the older man's voice seemed to override whatever objections he might have had. The two had formed some sort of bond, an instant friendship brought about by dire circumstances.

"Ten-four old man," the biker said, squeezing past Zoey and Louis in the alley.

"Keep up," the veteran said, "We're going to cross the street. Zoey, Louis, keep a look out, but _don't shout _if you see something."

"Roger," Zoey said. Louis only nodded, his expression tightening.

"Let's move."

Zoey was surprised with how quickly Bill moved, crouched low, prowling across the street like a jungle cat instead of an old man. She didn't know where to look first, swiveling her head around wildly. There were zombies _everywhere _but she didn't say anything, certain she wouldn't even be able to articulate something useful even if she could find her voice.

"Fuck me," Louis said in a low voice. He wasn't too comfortable with all the zombies milling around either. They twitched and jerked like faulty animatronic puppets, a far cry from the screaming banshee's they could instantly become.

"You ain't my type," Francis grunted from behind him.

"Shut your yaps!" Bill hissed through his teeth, ducking into another alley across the street. The rest of them piled in and Bill poked his head out, eyes narrowed, looking for their next goal.

"I didn't think you were a _gay _biker. How cliché," Zoey whispered, unable to help herself. Francis pulled a face and Louis snickered, shaking his head. The tension seemed to bleed out of all of them for a moment and the biker squared his shoulders, standing up straight to defend himself.

"I _ain't_ gay," he protested, "It was a goddamn joke."

"Do you top or bottom?" Zoey grinned up at him, nose wrinkling at his discomfort. _Some_body was insecure!

"Wanna find out?" he asked her, leering and leaning a bit closer. His attempt to turn the tables was a rousing success.

Her grin faded and she shoved at his chest (it was sticky _ew _what _was_ that) to keep him away, "Gross!"

"_Focus_, people," Bill snarled, impatient, "We don't got a lot of options from here and it's gonna be ugly."

"Not a lot of options? What do you mean?" Louis asked, his own smile fading. He came up beside Bill and the veteran pointed down the street.

"Most of the street lights are out on this block for some reason," he scowled, "See the police cruisers?"

"They made a barricade with their cars," Louis said softly.

"Might be able to to grab some more guns from the cruisers," Francis suggested, coming to crouch near the other two men. Zoey followed suit, squinting off into the near-darkness to see for herself. There had definitely been some kind of last stand in the intersection, but it was clear who had won out in the end. The only light still on was one of the cruiser's flasher's, giving the scene a surreal, eerie quality.

"If we get swarmed, get your asses to a wall," Bill said, "And _stick together_."

He turned around and slapped Francis on the shoulder, "You're up hot shot."

Francis grinned and stood, moving out in front of them eagerly. He started towards the intersection in a slow jog and Zoey followed along with the others. Her mouth felt dry and her heart was pounding, and nothing had even_ happened_ yet.

The biker went straight for cruisers, his heavy footfalls making some of the zombies stir.

"_Look_," Zoey hissed urgently, "They're looking at him."

"Don't fire until they charge," Bill warned, "Jesus H. Christ look at this bloodbath."

The officers who'd been manning the vehicles had been torn to bits. Blood and gore was spread around liberally.

Francis wedged himself in through a broken window, grunted as he stretched, and popped the trunk of the cruiser. The sound seemed far to loud, breaking the heavy silence, and some of the zombies started to growl and fix their eyes on the intruders.

Bill was already at the trunk, searching through it as Francis extracted himself.

"Guys," Zoey said, "Guys, they're-"

"Auto shotty in here, Francis," Bill said, apparently unconcerned.

"Hell yeah," the biker said, glancing at where Zoey was aiming her pistol, "Shit, better toss it over. They're gettin' riled."

There was a sharp coughing that made all of them jump. Glances were exchanged, but nobody seemed game to take credit for it.

Things went south very quickly after that.

The nearest zombies sprang into an instant sprint, screaming and alerting even more of his fellows. Louis and Zoey opened fire immediately, and she could only assume Bill did too. She heard a weird noise between shots, like... like someone was puking and slurping at the same time.

"What the-!"

She turned around in time to see some sort of ropey tentacle yank Francis back like he weighed nothing at all. He screamed as he was dragged across the street, _through_ shrieking zombies, struggling as it started to actually_ pull him up the side of the building_. He dangled off the ground like some morbid lure, the zombies reaching for him, trying to climb on to of each other to get to him.

"_Get this fucking thing off of me!_" he shrieked, struggling against the tentacle uselessly, "Fuck _off!_"

He kicked viciously at the zombies clawing up at him, caving in the skull of one with a steel-toed boot.

"Zoey, watch your six!" Bill shouted. Her ears rang as a shot whizzed past her, and something heavy stumbled into her, causing her to fall against the cruiser with a grunt. Louis was doing his best to keep them at bay but there were just so _many_.

"Something's got Francis!" she blurted. Bill swiveled his pistols over at the building and his expression was one of abject horror for a second.

"Cover me!" the veteran said, climbing up onto the cruiser, "Hang on Francis!"

"It's – _ungh!_ - it's squeezin' me!" the biker said, struggling wildly. Whatever the tentacle was attached too wasn't quite strong enough to winch him all the way up, but it was still holding him fast.

Bill fired once, then twice, severing the tentacle and releasing Francis. He dropped back onto the sidewalk with a grunt, right into the middle of a pack of zombies.

Distant howling kicked up then. Just like they'd heard last night.

"Oh my god, they're gonna zerg us again," Zoey said.

Louis shot her a confused look (was she the last person on earth who knew about StarCraft?) but backed up onto the cruiser with Bill, who was picking off zombies in the mob on Francis. The biker made it back to them, looking shaken, eyes flicking upwards more than out at where the horde might be charging from.

"In the trunk, Francis," Bill reminded him, "You see what got you?"

"No," he said, jumping over the hood of another cruiser and grabbing the shotgun out of the trunk. He set his other one aside and Zoey frowned, wondering what the hell the difference was between the two. The auto shotgun looked cooler, she supposed, as far as guns went. She wasn't an expert.

"Here they come!" Louis shouted, pointing, "We're screwed!"

"No we ain't!" Francis snapped. Zoey heard a sloshing and turned, blinking as Francis hurled a gas can out in front of them. It made sense that the police might have a spare gas can – there was a gas station on the corner – but what was he doing...?

"Get down!" Bill exclaimed, jumping behind the cruiser. Louis and Zoey followed suit, but Francis stood his ground, a sneer curling onto his face.

"Come and get it!" he shouted at them. Anticipating the blast, Zoey covered her ears and closed her eyes. For a blissful second she was enveloped by silence, and then the explosion made everything shake. She opened her eyes and looked up at Francis, who had one arm up to guard his eyes, a ferocious grin on his roughly hewn face.

Louis peeped over the hood of the cruiser and then stood, pumping a fist upwards with a ragged cheer. The zombies didn't seem to notice the blaze, attempting to run straight through it to reach the four and catching on fire. Some of the tougher ones kept running as they burned, but none of them made it very far.

"Anybody bring marshmallows?" Francis asked. He resumed flicking his eyes upwards, but whatever had attacked him seemed to be laying low.

"Good thinking Francis," Bill said, "Let's check the rest of these cruisers and keep movin'. Whatever got Francis'll likely come back for more."

From the cruisers they managed to acquire a fair stock of ammo, though they realized they couldn't possible carry it all between just two bags already full of food. Louis and Zoey took over carrying the food while Bill and Francis filled some dufflebags with more offensive supplies. Though the gas can had been a lifesaver, nobody was keen to lug one around with them.

"Let's keep moving," Bill said, taking a moment to light up a cigarette.

"Those are bad for you, you know," Zoey said, waving a hand at the smoke. She wasn't a fan of smoking. Not cigarettes, anyway.

"If I die of lung cancer before I get torn apart by zombies, I'll count myself lucky," Bill told her. He took point again while Francis continued to look skyward. The tentacle thing had really shaken him up.

They moved a few more blocks down the street without much incident, and Louis spotted the expressway sign, an arrow directing traffic to the on-ramp.

"Which way from here, Zoey?" Bill asked, checking the ammunition in the other pistol he'd picked up. He'd given her another one as well but she was still working on her aim with _one_, so she'd just holstered it.

Zoey closed her eyes a moment, trying to picture the bus route. They'd go down this street, see the sign, and...

"Left," she said, pointing, "And then a right at the next light. We should be able to see it from there."

"You heard her," Bill said, "Let's move, people."

Though the street was clear, when they reached the intersection they paused. The entire street was a mash up of vehicles.

"What happened?" Louis wondered, glancing up at the traffic light. It was no longer working normally, flashing yellow at the traffic that no longer flowed through.

"Somethin' bad," Bill guessed.

"Maybe we should skip Walmart," Louis said warily, "I don't like it. We should just go on the expressway, maybe find a car. We got food and ammo, right? Why risk it?"

Francis was focused on watching rooftops and didn't answer. Zoey wasn't sure what to think, glancing between Bill and Louis. He had a point. They'd cover more ground on the expressway in a car, assuming there weren't many bad jam ups, and they had about all they could carry with them from the CVS.

Bill flicked his cigarette down the street and adjusted his beret, thinking.

"We'll get better packs from the Walmart if it isn't picked over," he scowled, "And better supplies. Maybe some first aid kits. We're not getting a car, either. Every time we started the damn thing up we'd attract a swarm. If there are anymore survivors in the city, it's a fair bet we'll find them at the Walmart."

"Walmart, for all your zombie apocalypse needs," Zoey quipped. Nobody laughed.

"I don't like it, man," Louis protested, digging his heels in a little, "Even if we walk on the expressway it's gotta be safer than_ that_."

He pointed at the pile up of cars choking the street to emphasize his point.

"If you think anyplace is safer than anyplace else, you're kidding yourself," Bill snapped. He wasn't going to give ground either.

"_Shhh_," Francis hissed, waving a hand at all of them. Everyone went silent, tense, but after a few seconds of silence the biker muttered, "Nevermind. Thought I heard somethin'."

"Let's go," Bill said, adjusting his pack before heading into the pile up. He climbed up onto the back of a car and then up on the roof, "We can go over these cars most of the way. Look, the light's are still on, too."

He pointed, and sure enough, the Walmart stood out at the end of the street like a beacon. Aside from it's usual lighting, there were flood lights aimed at it. Nobody mentioned it, but Zoey was convinced they were all thinking of the floodlight at the safehouse. Even Louis seemed to be swayed, already right behind Bill.

"Coming?" Zoey asked over her shoulder as she followed the others. Francis grunted in reply and went after her.

"I thought there'd be more zombies," Louis whispered as they climbed their way over the derelict traffic jam.

"Just because we can't see them doesn't mean they aren't around," Bill said grimly, "Keep your eyes and ears open."

"Yeah, cut the chatter," Zoey piped up. Bill looked over his shoulder at her with a raised eyebrow and she smiled sheepishly. He cracked a half smile and Zoey marked it up as a victory.

They picked up speed and gained confidence the further through the traffic jam they got without incident, but all of it vanished the second the harsh coughing rang out again. It was impossible to tell where it was coming from and they all hunkered down, wild eyed, guns aiming skyward.

"That thing is back," Francis said, heavy jaw clenched, "Where the hell _is_ it?"

"Hope Walmart has maglites," Louis said, aiming his flashlight up at the rooftops, "These things aren't bright enough to see more than a couple of feet."

The coughing was wet and thick, _sickly_, and just when they'd thought it had stopped it would start again. Huddled in the middle of some crunched up sedans, whatever it was couldn't quite grab at any of them.

"We can't stay like this forever," Louis pointed out.

"I'll draw it out," Francis volunteered. Zoey glanced at him, wondering if it was her imagination or if the biker had gone pale at the thought of his own idea.

"Don't," Bill snapped, "If it's like the zombies it'll get impatient and charge."

"It's got some kind of slobbery tentacle, Bill," Francis said snidely, "It ain't like the other zombies. Maybe it's buddies with those hunter things we kept runnin' into downtown."

"It's stalking us," Louis insisted, swallowing hard.

"I'm tired a' just _sittin'_ here," Francis said, "I_ hate_ waiting."

"Let's make a move, _as a group_," Bill said while making a curt gesture, "Zoey, stay close to Francis. If it can pick _him_ up that easy, it'll have no problem snatching you."

"Great," she muttered, flicking a look at Francis. He was too busy looking grim to leer at her, at least, so she took some comfort in that. Slowly, they all stood and the hacking cut off abruptly.

"Go," Bill said urgently, "Go, _go_."

Staying bunched up in a group wasn't as easy on top of cars as it was flat on the ground. They ended up separated slightly, almost in a single file line. The coughing hadn't returned and Zoey watched Bill jump down at the front of the traffic jam, squinting in the glare of some headlights that had been left on. Francis was right in front of her, Louis close behind. She paused a moment, letting Louis catch up and letting Francis get over the hood of an SUV when she heard the awful slurpy noise again.

Something constricted her body and for a split second she thought Louis was grabbing her for some reason. Then she was off of her feet, smacking into a building a second later, leaving her dazed and stunned. Why was she being dragged up a building...?

"_IT'S GOT ZOEY!_" Louis shouted. Gunfire rang out but she was up over the roof, slowly coming back to her senses, trying to twist around and see what had her. Bill had been right – she'd been a much easier target for tentacle rape.

Oh, _god_.

Something was breathing heavily, _raggedly_ behind her, and she could feel (and _smell_) it's fetid breath on her neck. She screamed as the tentacle (oh god it was so _wet_, was it even a tentacle!?) began to constrict her, and then she felt _claws_ tearing into her back.

Zoey struggled more violently, screaming, hoping the others would be able to find some way up onto the roof to help her oh god_ she needed help_ she didn't want to die!

The tentacle seemed to slither tighter around her, and she tried to get her fingers between it and her throat, but not soon enough. She started to gag as it constricted her airway, the edges of her vision going black.

_Damn it_, she thought fuzzily, finding it harder to think clearly, _This isn't how it happens in the movies_.

She slumped over suddenly, her head bouncing off of the pavement, and a moment later the air was clouded with smoke. Zoey was vaguely aware of coughing, someone was snapping their fingers in her face, another shaking her shoulders, trying to get her to come around.

Coughing, she opened her eyes in a squint, and three concerned faces came into focus.

"She's okay," Louis observed, "Hey, Zoey."

"Muh head hurts," she mumbled. Zoey protested as Francis picked her up but he ignored her, looking to Bill, who'd gotten up to inspect the corpse of the creature.

"That's it's _tongue_," Bill said, poking the long coil with a boot.

"Oh, gross," Zoey mumbled, pressing the heel of her hand to her temple. She pulled it away and was somewhat surprised to find blood. Her back was starting to throb, too, where the... the _tongue thing_ had scratched her.

"I hope we aren't breathing in poison or something," Louis still, still waving a hand to dispel the smoke, "Smells like cigarettes."

"She's bleeding," Francis said, "Hey," he gave her a shake, jarring her and making her groan, "Stay awake."

Bill shined a flashlight at her a moment, grim, but gestured towards the stairs they'd come up, "She'll be all right. It isn't bad. Let's keep going. Blood attracts the hunters."

They made their way back down the stairwell and into the alley, stepping out into the headlights again. The Walmart stood before them, the white block lettering steadfast in the face of all the carnage.

"Is that a _helicopter_ in the parking lot?" Louis asked, squinting, "Shit, that isn't good."

Zoey wondered if she had a concussion. She'd hit her head pretty hard when she fell, and she could feel a bump on her forehead where she'd banged it.

"Don't pick at it," Francis muttered. His voice rumbled deep in his chest and she just made an unhappy noise instead of telling him to shut up.

They were moving very quickly, she noticed, and not quite as cautiously as before. Bill went straight for the helicopter wreckage, and on the ground someone had spray painted a rudimentary 'H'. The tail of the copter wasn't marked as military, though – it was a news chopper, channel seven. Maybe the one that observed traffic. Had they attempted to evacuate people?

She just wanted to _sleep_, in all honesty, but every time she started to drift off Francis gave her a rough shake.

"Look, safehouse!" Louis cheered. Zoey left her head propped on Francis' chest, the idea of lifting it to see what Louis was pointing at an unpleasant one. Was she bleeding on his shirt? He needed a new one, anyway. He smelled _terrible_.

"Look at all these signs," Bill said, "They tried to make this a makeshift evac zone. Didn't go to well though by the looks of things."

"What could have done that to a helicopter?" Louis asked warily.

"It's probably picked clean inside," Bill said, ignoring Louis' question, "But if there's a safehouse we should get inside. How's she doing, Francis?"

"Better n'dead," he said, "She needs some first aid pretty soon."

Zoey closed her eyes and Francis growled, giving her another shake.

"Lemme' 'lone," she mumbled, pouting at him. Why was he being such a big _jerk?_

"Sing with me," he said, "C'mon. Ninety-nine bottles a'beer on the wall..."

Even though it was stupid, Zoey muttered along with the song since it seemed so damned important to him. By the time they'd made their way through the aisles to a door labeled 'BREAK ROOM – EMPLOYEES ONLY', they were down to eighty-two bottles.

"It's painted red," Louis said eagerly, knocking on it, "Hey! We're not infected! Anybody in there?"

His knocking caused the door to swing in and he took a step back in alarm. Fair enough, they'd left the last safehouse they were in unlocked, but they hadn't just left the door wide open. It was a bad sign. Francis stopped singing.

"Shit," Francis said, turning around to look behind them. He jostled her a little as he struggled to bring his shotgun to bear while still keep a good hold on her and she moaned unhappily. Ohh she was gonna puke if he kept moving her around like that.

"It's clear," Bill said after a few minutes. They all hurried inside, Bill and Louis securing the door while Francis laid her on a couch. It was more of a loveseat, really, not nearly long enough to qualify as a proper couch. The biker's expression was worried and a smoothed a gloved hand over her forehead, pushing her hair away from her bump and wincing.

"That's gonna leave a mark," he said, ducking his head a little as she started to drowse. Zoey growled when he snapped his fingers right in her face again and pouted at him.

"You suck," she muttered, trying to slouch down more, to burrow into the couch (loveseat, damn it) and shut everything out. Moving hurt, though, and she let out a hiss of discomfort.

"All right, you better sit up," Francis said, putting an arm around her shoulders and trying to ease her up. She fought against him weakly, pressing her hands urgently on his shoulder and chest.

"Nuhnuhgonnapuuuh-!" her inarticulate protest was cut off as she puked on him, drawing a rather indignant shout from him.

"Fuckin' sick!" Francis said, "Jesus! Aw, it smells like peanut butter!"

"Quit manhandling her Francis, you're probably makin' it worse," Louis said, hovering near the door. He sounded distracted, but Zoey was convinced that moving again would only cause her to hurl the rest of her stomach.

"Fuck you, Louis, I'm just tryin' to keep her awake! You got a better idea?" the biker growled at him defensively.

"Both of you shut up," Bill said, "I found a first aid kit in the bathroom. Move, Francis."

Muttering, Francis backed away, and over Bill's shoulder (albiet rather blearily) she watched him shrug off his vest and then pull off the singlet.

"Hey, kid," the old man's voice drew her eyes back to him, "Gonna try to sit you up again, all right? I'm going to get your back patched up first and then we'll see how bad your head is. I'm no medic but I can keep you goin'."

"Gunna puke," Zoey managed, voice thick. She barely recognized it, and had a terrible thought. Was this how the infection presented? Was it just some slow-working strain? Oh god, Amanda had been puked on and she'd turned-

"Hork in this, Pukey McGee," Francis suggested. He set a trashcan near Bill and the veteran nodded at him in thanks.

"You probably have a little concussion," Bill said, "Dropped like a brick when that thing let go of you. Throwing up is normal."

Slowly, with Bill's help, she sat up again. Sure enough, the second she was upright she vomitted, clutching the plastic bin weakly. Bill was talking to her quietly, soothingly, and she wondered if he was just pretending it wasn't bad to keep her calm. He helped her slip her hoodie off, but when he started to coax her out of her shirt she made an unhappy noise. Zoey shook her head and instantly regretting it, feeling like vomiting and blacking out at once. She did the former instead.

"I know it's embarassing kid but the shirt's stickin' to your cuts," Bill attempted to coax, "I can't clean them if it's in the way."

"Everybody's doin' it," Francis chimed in, obviously trying to make her feel better. Zoey looked at him, noting he'd put the vest back on (but not his puked-on singlet), and she managed a very thin smile.

"Y. M. C. A," she sang thinly. Louis laughed in the background and even Bill smirked.

"All you need is the hat, man," the businessman said, "She's got a point."

"Buncha fuckin' comedians," the biker snarled, "All right, chuckles, let's go shoppin' while Bill patches her up."

Though Louis sobered slightly at the thought, that they hadn't run into any trouble on their way in overrode his initial misgivings. The two of them made their way out inside the store, closing the door snugly behind them. Once they were gone, Bill turned back to her.

"I promise I won't get fresh, kiddo," he assured her with just the right touch of cynicism. Zoey moved her head in an approximation of a nod, and with a great deal of effort, managed to peel off her shredded t-shirt. Bill had her rest her head on the armrest and sat on the couch with a groan, letting out a low whistle as he inspected her back.

"They look pretty shallow," he said after a moment, "I'll clean off all this blood and get some bandages over the nastier ones."

Zoey tried not to flinch too much. He was using rough paper towels from the bathroom to dab off the blood, touching some sort of stinging antiseptic to the wound afterwards. It sucked, but she didn't dare complain. Maybe she was immune to whatever had infected most of the population, but that didn't mean she was immune to whatever was caked on filthy zombie claws.

"Not as bad as it looked," Bill assured her, "Hang in there. Need to puke?"

"Nngh," Zoey said, "M'okay."

"Sorry this happened to yah kid," Bill said as he fussed, "You're holdin' up better than most."

Zoey swallowed, wondering if she could speak more than a few words without puking, and decided to give it a go.

"Had to have an action scene before the character development," she said weakly, "That's how it goes in horror movies."

"This ain't a movie," Bill said gruffly.

"I know," Zoey sighed, "I just... it's easier to think of. Like that. Like it's all going too... hnnghh..."

She groped for the bin and Bill handed it to her just in time. Ughh, she didn't even had food left. Just bile. _Gross_.

"Whatever works for you," Bill said, "No skin off my nose."

Zoey wasn't game to try anymore conversation after that, letting Bill patch her up, and she wondered where they'd go from here. Further out of the city, she assumed, but where? Hole up in a cabin? Try to find the military? She settle for just knowing what the hell was going on for starters. To be assured that herself and three men were some of the only ones left alive for miles.

Somehow she doubted being the token female would ensure her survival in this case.

"All right, let's have a look at that noggin of yours," Bill muttered, standing up and gingerly putting a hand under her chin to steady her wavering head. He grimaced and touched around what she assumed was a big, angry bump, noting how he was frowning at it, "Swelling is makin' it worse than it is, I think. Still feel sick?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, hugging herself a little. Zoey thought it was a bit weird to be shy around Bill – she wasn't a very modest person in the first place – but she was pretty damned vulnerable right now. She had some sort of lame head injury, her clothes were shredded, and her social circle had shrank to three men she'd met yesterday.

Sadly, her life had more direction than it had a week ago. Drawing something positive from the situation was desperate at best, but hey, that was humanity's greatest strength, right? Persevering against insurmountable odds?

"Follow my finger," Bill said, keeping his hand on her chin and moving a finger past her eyes. She did what he asked, trying not to notice his perplexed expression, "I'm no expert kid, but I think you're okay. Just a nasty bump on the head."

He withdrew his hand and headed for the bathroom again, waving his blood smeared hands, "Gonna wash up."

Zoey smiled to herself when the door closed, leaving her alone in the break room. This was the second night in a row she'd been the first on the couch. She'd bled all over this one, too. That was pretty much like calling dibs, right?

There was a sharp crackle overhead that made he squeak in alarm, and Bill was out of the bathroom with his gun aimed at the door half a second later. Both of them noticed the intercom at the same time.

"Attention, Walmart shoppers," a voice that rather clearly belonged to Francis said, "We have hit the fuckin' motherlode."

"Man, quit it! You-"

The intercom cut off then and Bill holstered his pistol with a growl, muttering, "Jackass."

"He's a real charmer," Zoey said, still pressing a hand over her heart, "Jesus that scared the shit out of me."

Bill didn't respond, silently drawing a cigarette from the packet in his front pocket and lighting it, clearly unconcerned with smoking in the small room.

"I'm too old for this horseshit," he said, hooking a boot on the leg of a plastic chair and pulling it over to him so he could sit, "If cancer doesn't get me, that son of a bitch is going to give me a heart attack."

"Sounds like they're doing okay out there, at least," she said, trying to stay positive. Zoey's natural state was that of a smartass, but the situation didn't warrant it, "That's something."

"He's in a good mood, anyway," Bill said, sounding less edgy as he got his nicotine fix, "Usually he's complaining about every damn thing."

"I'll puke on him more often."

Another half-smile tugged at his lips and he waved a hand in an attempt to disperse his smoke a little. She'd had friends who were smokers and remembered them doing the same rudimentary action. It never actually helped, but the thought behind it gave her a bizarre sort of peace.

Eager as she was for Louis and Francis return with whatever hitting the motherlode entailed, now that she'd puked and she wasn't bleeding, she felt like passing out.

Bill watched her slowly drift off, and by the time he crushed out the remains of his cigarette, she was fast asleep. He got up, joints popping, and grabbed a blanket from a stack in the corner. Once he'd covered her up he sat down again, reading the grafitti with a grim expression. It implored other visitors to the safe house to not linger. Some sort of 'giant monster' had smashed the helicopter. Apparently it attacked other infected, too, which certainly explained the lack of them in the area.

Though it would be better to give Zoey a few days to recover, they'd have to get moving after they'd all gotten a good sleep.

He lit another cigarette and waited for Francis and Louis to return.


	3. The Parking Lot

There was a terrible moment of transition between her dream and her realization that she was awake. The door to her psychology class (had she ever _been_ to her psych class?) slammed open and the infected streamed inside, bellowing at the top of their lungs about Christmas...

"Jesus, Mary and _Joseph, _Francis, I nearly put one between your eyes!" Bill exclaimed.

"Take it easy, General," Francis shot back, "Who else would it have been?"

There was silence and Zoey squinted her eyes open, annoyed to have her sleep interrupted, and saw Bill pointing at something on the wall behind her.

"Oh, so I sound like a giant zombie to you?" the biker said, incredulous, "Have you ever _heard_ one before?"

"Sorry we woke you, Zoey," Louis offered from the door. He was wedging the bar back into place, "Didn't know you'd be sleeping."

"S'okay," she said, wincing as a wave of pain radiated out from right between her eyes. Oh, good, the pain was migrating inwards. It was bad enough, at least, to distract her from the stinging all over her back. She sat up slowly, hugging the blanket (had she gone to sleep with a blanket?) to her chest, and finally noticed the shopping cart. Zoey sat up, keeping her blanket close to her, and peered at all the goodies they'd grabbed. She glanced at Francis and noted that amongst the things they had found, he'd acquired a new shirt. She supposed she would spare him and not make another Village People joke.

"Couldn't stop grabbin' stuff. The place is messed up but there's a lot left," Francis said, digging into the cart, "We uh, didn't really know your size, but..."

He presented Zoey with two sloppily folded articles of clothing. Though she accepted them, she must've looked surprised, because he laughed awkwardly in response.

"Well I wanted to pick somethin' outta lingerie but Louis talked me out of it," he said, rubbing the back of his head. She raised an eyebrow at him, not believing a word, and he went back to rummaging around in the cart. Was he _embarrassed_ he'd done something _nice?_

"Thanks, guys," Zoey said. It was plain white shirt and a pink hoodie. Pink wasn't... really her _thing_, but it was thoughtful, so she wasn't going to make a fuss. She felt all eyes on her as she shuffled into the bathroom to put them on. It was kind of dumb, needing privacy to put _on_ more clothing, but she wanted an excuse to take a look at how bad the bump was in the mirror.

Once the door was shut behind her she braced herself and looked, letting out a whoosh of breath at her ragged appearance. She'd been kind of messed up back at the dorm, but now she looked like some sort of shell shocked war refugee. Her hair, previously tied up in a neat ponytail, was a tangled mess. Feeling around the back, her fingers eventually found her hair tie, and she slowly eased it out of her gnarled hair with a whimper. Though she doubted it had been terribly clean beforehand, it was matted with blood, some of it her own.

Zoey looked around for a shower stall rather uselessly. She was _completely_ gross, and the bump seemed to fit right in with her overall bedraggled appearance. A long hot shower and a soft bed both sounded like fine luxuries. She'd even take the annoyingly low-pressured shower back at her dorm right now. God, she hadn't even shaved or brushed her teeth since shit had hit the fan.

They'd said that the store wasn't picked over. She could at least get a hairbrush and a toothbrush, right? That wasn't wholly unreasonable. Zoey couldn't shake the feeling that her vanity ought to be taking more of a back seat to everything, but maybe it was good she still had some vestiges of denial. Sure, this area was bad, but maybe other cities had fared better.

She pulled on the shirt, then the hoodie, putting her hair back up in a bumpy ponytail once she was fully dressed. Zoey washed her hands afterwards, and after a moment, gave her face a bit of a scrub too. She avoided jarring the bump, not game to trigger anymore puking or blacking out, and rejoined the 'boys' in the break room. It looked a bit like Christmas morning, packaging and tags strewn everywhere.

Her eyes were drawn to the graffiti the others had looked at upon first entering the safehouse, and she knelt on the loveseat to take it in with a furrowed brow. Most evac points did very few pickups before abandoning the post entirely. Apparently the military was shooting people on sight, immune or not. Dominating the scribbles and notes (it was hard to tell which ones were sincere and which sensational) was WATCH OUT FOR THE BIG ONE in urgent block lettering.

Underneath, in much smaller letters, someone had scribbled (with an arrow pointing to the larger message) 'fuck that thing'. Another message cheekily suggested that person use protection. She smiled, but not at the thought of a 'big one'. Did all the zombies form together and make Zombietron or something?

The idea drew a completely inappropriate giggle out of her and she covered her mouth immediately afterwards, turning her head around to see if she'd been busted. Three sets of eyes were looking back at her.

"Sorry," she said, "I just... I thought of something funny."

"Gonna share?" Francis wondered. He was in the middle of making what looked like a holster for his shotgun from things he'd pilfered in the store, but like the other two, was curious to know what made someone who'd nearly gotten strangled death giggle.

"I just... um... you guys remember Voltron?" she asked, ducking her head a little. It occurred to her that Voltron was actually before _her_ time.

"Ain't that a cartoon?" Francis asked, furrowing his brow in concentration.

"Robot cartoon," Louis corrected, putting up a hand in defense when Francis shot him a questioning look, "I got nephews! I hear about this kinda stuff!"

"Well it's like... it's a bunch of robots, right, and they all form together to form this really big one. Voltron," Zoey said. She could tell her joke was already screwed – the explanation was too long and too obscure. It was also maybe too soon to make jokes about zombies.

"I don't get it," Francis said.

"I'm not done," she protested, glancing over at the largely silent Bill. He raised his eyebrows at her slightly but didn't deign to comment, "So. I was reading _this_," she pointed at the block lettering, "And thought of Zombietron. You know, all made out of lots of little zombies."

There was a painful silence and then Francis snorted. Bill only shook his head.

"Can it fire zombies, too?" Louis asked. His serious tone made her raise her eyebrows, but when they made eye contact both of them started laughing.

"You know it!" she said, "Oh, god, laughing hurts."

"Grabbed yah some aspirin," Francis piped up, nodding over to the counter. There was indeed a bottle of aspirin sitting next to one of the Gatorade's Bill had gotten at CVS.

"Thanks," she said, calming some, "What should we have for dinner? I was thinking McDonalds."

They ended up having a warm meal, Louis having ducked into Housewares and found a hotplate. It was canned food, but much more substantial than a sandwich. The aspirin soon dulled the throbbing behind her eyes and made it easy to ignore the stinging on her back. Things were _almost _normal.

"Where should we go from here?" Louis asked. He'd taken up residence near the counter, leaning on it. She kept thinking he'd get tired of standing (leaning, she supposed) and sit down, but he continued to confound her expectations. Francis was still on the floor despite the fact that there were more plastic chairs like the one Bill was sitting on.

"We'll follow the expressway," Bill said, lighting a post-meal cigarette.

"Gimme one a'those," Francis said, holding out a hand.

"Your mother ever teach you manners, Francis?" the veteran wondered, proffering the pack to the biker anyway. Francis tapped a cigarette out and lit it with a zippo he produced from inside his vest and shrugged.

"Follow it where?" Louis asked, eying the door. He was probably thinking of cracking it open so the air didn't get choked with cigarette smoke – she knew _she_ was thinking it.

"Out into the country," the older man said, flicking ashes onto the floor thoughtfully, "If the evacs keep going wrong, it might be a bad idea to check any more of em' out."

"Yeah, don't want to run into Zombietron," Louis smirked. Zoey grinned.

"How is goin' to the country a good idea?" Francis scowled, "Ain't nothin' out there!"

"Exactly," Bill said, "If there are any lasting outposts of survivors, we'll find em' out there."

"I hate the country," the biker said, "How can you be so sure, anyway? What if we get out there an' it's just... zombie deer and shit? Fuck that. At least we got supplies to loot if we're near the city."

"I wonder if the radio in that helicopter outside still works," Zoey mused quietly, "Maybe we could pick up some information from that."

"Not a bad idea," Bill said, gesturing to her and nodding, "You're lookin' a lot better kid. We'll get some sleep and head out at sundown. It's too quiet here. I don't want to stick around and find out what the hell went wrong for myself."

"I'm down with that," Louis agreed.

Zoey covered a yawn with her hand. She hadn't gotten much of a nap in before Francis and Louis had returned with the goods. Was she going to be the first one to sleep again? Bill was going over his new pack with a fine toothed comb, Louis was fiddling with... _something_ over on the counter. His back was to her.

"Get some sleep kid," Bill said without looking up, "Gonna need it for tomorrow."

"I should get my pack sorted, at least," she said, starting to feel lame, "I'm not helpless. I want to pull my weight."

"Pull your weight by not collapsing from exhaustion," Bill said. There was a severity in his voice that heavily suggested she cease arguing.

"Where are you guys gonna sleep?" she wondered instead of protesting, hunkering down under the blanket.

"The floor."

"It's a cold linoleum floor," Zoey said, "I-"

"You're a hot teenage college student and we're three single dudes," Francis said from his seat on the floor, "Enjoy bein' a novelty while it lasts."

"You are such a _jerk_, Francis."

"A_ handsome _jerk," he amended for her.

"How many roofies does it usually take for you to get a girl to say that out loud and mean it?"

"Damn, girl," Louis praised quietly, raising an eyebrow at Francis, who was grinning at her. The biker obviously appreciated her acerbic responses to his boorish statements. She wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

"I won't need them no more," Francis said, "The datin' pool's pretty dried up, and I bet I got the lowest standards in the room."

"Only you would be proud of that, Francis," Bill sighed, "Shut your yap and let the kid get some sleep."

As much as she'd enjoy staying up and goofing off, Zoey decided she'd take Bill's advice for now and get some rest. Though it hadn't been _entirely_ great, she'd chalk today up as a good one. They all seemed to get along pretty well in spite of being from wildly different walks of life. Maybe they were in a genre first, a feel-good zombie movie. At the end, they'd be rescued by the military and enjoy life in a quarantined safe zone.

She held onto the thought as she slipped off to sleep, not daring to let something a tad more realistic seep into her brain.

* * *

Sleeping first meant waking up early, and she felt a twinge of deja vu when the first person she made eye contact with was Bill. He nodded at her and gestured over to the counter. Alongside some weird... _devices_ there was a steaming coffee pot.

"Mornin'," he greeted quietly, "Sleep all right?"

"Yeah," she responded with a whisper, sitting up. Zoey blinked, noting something on the armrest near her feet, and grabbed it to get a better look.

"It's a holster," Bill said, lighting up, "Francis made em' for everyone."

"Wow, he's Walmart MacGyver," she commended, turning it over in her hands. He'd taken utility belts usually used for carpentry tools and made makeshift holster's out of them. _When_ he'd been in a situation where that had become a useful skill, she wasn't sure she wanted to know about. Whatever it had been, she was betting prison had been the result afterward.

"He's resourceful," Bill agreed, "He and Louis made some pipe bombs, too. Louis attached fire alarm parts to them. Thinks it might help if we get swarmed again but we'll see."

"How late did you guys stay up?" she wondered, pulling off the blanket and stretching. Their discussion had caused Louis to stir and he sat up, while Francis, as per usual, remained flat on his back, an arm draped over his eyes, dead asleep.

"_Too_ late," Louis admitted with a yawn, getting up to grab a cup of coffee. He brought one back to Zoey and sat on an armrest and she accepted it with a quiet 'thank you', "But we got a lot done."

"So we're going to head down the expressway tonight, right?" Zoey said, "Head north?"

"After we check out the helicopter radio," Bill nodded, "That's the plan. The four of us can't hold out forever on our own. Eventually we'll have to find some more permanent fortification."

"Preferably someplace with a shower," Zoey said, "I'm going to start smelling as bad as Francis."

"I ain't asleep," the biker muttered, lifting his arm just enough so one eye could glare balefully at the teenager.

"Get your ass up, Francis," Bill suggested, "It's been past noon for a good few hours."

Muttering, the biker slouched off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him on his way in.

"Wow, is he upset?" Zoey asked, feeling marginally bad if she'd actually hurt his feelings. She blew on her coffee as she watched the door, brow furrowed.

"He just ain't a morning person," Bill said. The veteran looked unconcerned, "You'll get used to it."

Zoey finished her coffee and a cereal bar, and Francis was _still _in the bathroom. Though Bill wasn't waiting his turn, since he was the first one up and had gotten first dibs, Louis and Zoey still hadn't had a chance to use it. Louis didn't seem too bothered, but she hadn't used the damn bathroom since yesterday and she was positive someone that smelled and looked like Francis didn't normally spend longer than thirty seconds behind a closed bathroom door unless he was doing drugs.

What if he _was_ doing drugs? She got up from the couch and stood next to the door, putting a finger to her lips when Louis opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing. Bill turned in his chair slightly, his expression mirroring the perplexed one on the businessman's face.

She was well rested, she'd had two cups of coffee, and she was in a really good mood for the first time in days – she had enough energy to be mischievous. Zoey leaned close to the door, trying to listen through it, but the big bad biker was being as quiet as a mouse.

There were some drawbacks to her plan. One, he might go into some drug crazed rage and rip her arms off. Two... that was it, really.

Abruptly, she banged on the door and shouted, "FRANCIS ARE YOU SHOOTING UP IN THE BATHROOM?"

Francis' startled "_HOLYFUCK!_" was muffled, but loud enough for all of them to hear, and Louis started to laugh, slapping a hand against his leg.

Leaning against the opposite wall from the door, Zoey held her sides as she joined Louis in laughter. She hadn't been counting on actually _scaring_ him, she'd just wanted to piss him off a little.

He emerged a few moments later and she grinned up at him, terribly amused with herself and the grumpy scowl on his face.

"What was _that _for?" Francis asked, indignant.

"I've gotta use the bathroom," Zoey insisted, "What was taking you so long? Were you freebasing your boots or something?"

"Number one, I ain't a junkie, and number two, it's hard to get off when I can only imagine you sayin' how bad I smell," he said.

"Oh, _gross_," she exclaimed, instantly horrified, "T.M.I.! I _so_ didn't want to know that."

"You asked," he said, a more smug expression sliding onto his face.

"_Ugh_," Zoey said, quickly entering the bathroom to escape his presence. He was probably making it up, but really, what _else_ could he have been doing?

"You're sick, Francis," she could hear Bill say through the door.

"A man has his needs!" he protested.

She took care of her business quickly and spent the rest of the 'morning' fussing with her new holster and pack, not making eye contact with anyone. Well, she'd pretty much kicked her own ass with that one, hadn't she? What was next, a comedic montage in which she learned to appreciate Francis' rascally ways and there was a closeup of them clasping hands?

_Blech_. This definitely wasn't a romantic comedy. If it was, she wasn't too optimistic about her prospects... well. Louis wasn't bad.

"Hey."

Zoey flicked a look at the biker and flushed at him irritably, "What?"

"Sorry," he said, the word drawn from him like it was shrapnel, "I didn't... well, all right, I _was _tryin' to freak you out but you scared the fuckin'_ shit_ outta me."

"I thought it'd be funny," she murmured, "Sorry I scared you."

"Truce?"

He stuck out his hand and she only looked at it, raising an eyebrow at him a moment later.

"What? Oh, come on, I use my left hand."

"Gross!" she exclaimed, slugging him in the shoulder instead of shaking his hand. Zoey couldn't help the half-smile on her face, and added after a beat, "Truce."

"You kids done horsin' around?" Bill growled, "Get it outta your systems?"

While Bill was annoyed, Louis was laughing quietly, shoulders shaking. They were in high spirits, and she hoped that meant they'd be extra frosty in case they ran into Zombietron.

"Ten-four," Francis said, "Let's go."

They left the saferoom in a better state than they'd found it, leaving behind a great deal. She'd miss hot meals and the coffee machine, but maybe the next safehouse would have those sorts of things.

Her feelings of good cheer seemed to almost instantly leech out of her as they made their way through the deserted store, and by the time they stepped back into the parking lot, she was back on edge. She tried to resist the urge, but her eyes kept straying towards the roof of the Walmart, ears strained for coughing.

They were traveling in a much tighter group, at least, and that put her a bit more at ease as they approached the wreckage. Bill approached it while they all looked out into the parking lot for trouble.

She'd been considerably less lucid the first time through the parking lot, and the details of it weren't very pleasant now that she was taking them in. Many of the cars near the entrance and the helicopter we smashed, some turned upside down or on their sides. There were liberal smears of blood staining the pavement, but she was grateful that most of the corpses were further (_flung? thrown?_) away and that she couldn't _smell_ them. She decided not to consider the fact that they were relatively fresh corpses, and not yet at the stage where they reeked.

"This thing is FUBAR'd," Bill announced with a measure of disappointment, "We should get the hell outta here. I don't want to meet whatever did this."

"Looks like someone took a wrecking ball to this place," Zoey said. Her eyes drifted upwards again, squinting. There was a dark shape just outside the edge of the floods that were pointed at the building, and she aimed her rather newly acquired maglite up at it. A headlight reflected back at her and she gasped, making the others swing their guns up at where she'd aimed.

"Holy _shit_," Louis commented, "How did a car get up _there?_"

"Stop gawkin' and start movin'," Bill said. The others obeyed, albeit with lingering backwards glances at the car. On top of Walmart was _not_ an appropriate place for a car, ever.

"Whatever did that doesn't seem to be around," Louis said to fill the silence, his voice low. They had broken into a slow jog, eager to be away from the carnage, "I mean we've been scrabblin' around and making noise and it hasn't turned up."

"Maybe," Bill said, holding up a hand as he abruptly stopped, "_Shh_. Turn your lights off."

There were four hasty clicks and they stood together in silence. Louis turned his backs to them, to keep their rear covered, and Zoey looked up again. She didn't hear it at first, but there was a low... _snorfling_ sound, like some sort of animal rooting around for food. It was very soft, and she wasn't even sure how Bill had heard it through their talking, but it was close. Possibly around the corner.

They all stood stock still, barely even breathing, and Bill clicked his flashlight on, letting the beam go past the corner they were approaching. There was a sign instructing delivery trucks around back, and Zoey imagined there were dumpsters around the corner as well. Maybe they should have crossed the parking lot, back the way they came, instead of trying to hug walls. Walls meant blind corners, and blind corners meant... mysterious snorfling.

The snorfling, however, had stopped a few moments after the flashlight beam had passed the corner. As one they all began to back up when they heard a low growling, and then the flashlight's beam was interrupted by a wall of flesh. Bill snapped his flashlight up and the massive thing put up a twisted, fleshy hand with a throaty snarl of annoyance, the light blinding it.

"_The fuck is that thing_," Louis said in a very small voice. Zoey didn't answer, certain that her eyes were as big as dinner plates. The thing started as a man, but while its lower body looked only moderately distorted, its upper body was layer after layer of heavily corded muscle, arms so swollen that its fingers looked like they were just sticks shoved into the ends.

They were frozen in place, unsure of how to react until the thing flailed its hands irritably at the light and roared.

"SCATTER!" Bill yelled.

Nobody argued.

Zoey hadn't even realized she'd turned tail and ran until she was halfway back to the entrance of the Walmart, the sound of gunfire snapping her back to reality. She glanced over her shoulder to see who was firing at the giant monster. Bill was running and shooting at it, attempting to draw it off while Francis pumped shotgun shells into it from where he'd crouched on top of a car. The veteran's pistols did not seem to be serving as an adequate distraction, however, and the creature roared in frustration. It was too ponderous and bulky to catch the spry old man, and with Francis a fair distance away it just stopped chasing.

Was it going to keel over? Was it dead!?

She watched mutely as it punched the pavement and then started to pry a chunk of it out of. Panicked, Bill and Francis began to reload at the same time, having not paced themselves properly in the rush to kill the monster. The biker slid down behind the car, out of sight as the thing lifted heavy the chunk of parking lot up over its head with a furious grunt.

"FRANCIS, _GET OUTTA THERE!_" Bill shouted in alarm, sliding new clips back into both guns with a solid click. Zoey came out of hiding when he started firing at its back again and joined in. So did Louis, whom she had lost track of – they'd run in the same general direction.

The bullets only seemed to be annoying the thing and it hurled the pavement at the car Francis had been on, slamming into it like a freight train and sending the car sliding back along the pavement, metal screaming as it scraped and buckled against its will.

It turned and roared, beating the ground with its fists again, and charged. At her. Standing in plain view amidst the floodlights.

"_RUN_, Zoey!" Louis exclaimed. She backed up two steps and turned tail again, sneakers barely hitting the pavement as she sprinted away. That thing was going to smash her, it was going to _tear her apart_. She spared a moment of sorrow for all the smashed clumps of bodies in the parking lot. They'd huddled together like scared cattle and the thing had annihilated them.

She was vaguely aware of Louis and Bill shouting at the thing, trying to draw its (_oh god it got Francis_) attention (_I'mnextI'mnext_) with, she had to assume, little success. Zoey didn't dare turn around and check, knowing that the second she lost her focus she'd trip, fall, and become giant-goddamn-zombie food.

Now was a good time for a military helicopter to swoop in and shoot a missile at it, she decided. Flight of the Valkyries and _everything_.

Her lungs were burning and she could feel a stitch in her side and the pain between her eyes had returned. She kept running. Zoey would not stop running until her entire body shattered from the strain if it meant the thing might give up.

She veered off suddenly into a row of unsmashed cars, stumbling, skidding and falling onto her side with a terrified, pained yelp. Zoey scrambled to get back onto her feet, looking over her shoulder just as the thing tried to stop as well, it's momentum taking it past the row of parked cars with a howl of frustration. They couldn't get away from this thing. They couldn't kill it. It wouldn't stop until every single one of them was dead and they'd pretty much just walked right into it.

Hadn't she made a joke about what had done this earlier? It seemed completely unfunny now. She was in a situation that was putting her entire life into sharp relief. With the toungey thing, she hadn't even had time to think about the fact that she might die, the oxygen deprivation turning her brain to mush. This was _entirely_ different. She was sharply aware of the situation, cognizant enough to realize that her standing in the light had been stupid, that she was completely out of shape, and that the _thing_ behind her was going to crush her into paste.

"Leave her alone you ugly son of a bitch!" she heard Bill say.

Louis chimed in with an, "Over here, damn it!"

They'd given chase as well. God, why weren't they running _away_ from it!? Maybe they could get away! She dared to look over her shoulder, and just before she tripped and fell, she saw the monster lumbering to a halt and turning to face the tiny creatures firing at it. Zoey look forward again, catching herself with her hands and skinning her palms in the process. The pain didn't even register and she picked herself up again, drawing her pistols and firing into its back with a defiant scream.

_You should run and hide_, the voice of reason implored in the back of her mind. Her aggression, having spent a majority of her life crouched in a dark corner and expressing itself only through sarcasm, practically tore out reason's throat to silence the idea. This thing had killed Francis and it was trying to kill all of them and _fuck this thing _she wasn't running anymore.

There was a metallic thumping off to her right and she flicked her eyes over to it, guns following automatically, but she lowered them with a stunned gasp when she saw Francis clomping over the top of a car. He had some nasty gashes that didn't seem to be bothering him, and just as the monster got within swinging range of Bill and Louis, he fired once at its back.

"_HEY!_" Francis bellowed, glancing backwards as he moved to stand on the car's roof, "HEY, SHITHEAD! YEAH, I FUCKED YOUR MOM! SHE WASN'T THAT GOOD!"

Though she knew it was only turning because of the bite of the shotgun, when the creature whirled on him she had a perverse urge to laugh. Francis had apparently gotten out of the way of the pavement and the car, but somehow she doubted standing _on_ a car was a good way to keep on living in this instance.

"Francis you _moron!_" Bill shouted at him, "Get offa the car!"

Instead of moving, the biker knelt down, a crazed grin on his face as the behemoth charged him. He wasn't firing, or looking for a place to roll away, or... did he have a death wish!?

Closing the distance between them quickly, the creature roared in anticipation of acquiring its prey, and Francis sprang off of the hood of the car directly at the thing with one hand outstretched, the other firmly gripping his shotgun. It was so top heavy the thing had to use its hands to run and so stopping its charge to swat or grab at Francis was something of problem for it, at least in a timely fashion. It snarled as the biker landed on it with a grunt, using one of the (_disgusting_) buldgy cords standing out under its skin to keep from bouncing off of it and onto the pavement. Francis' own muscles stood out from the effort, his handhold temporary at best, and she let out a cry of alarm. It was just going to smash him like a bug! What the fuck was wrong with him!?

Not making much more effort to stabilize is precarious position, Francis jammed the muzzle of his shotgun into the creatures gaping mouth and squeezed the trigger, firing nine rounds directly down its throat. The final shot erupted out of its back in a rather spectacular spray of gore.

It let out a horrible, gurgley wail and slapped the biker away like a flea. Francis shouted in distress as he rolled a few times on the pavement before he stopped and Zoey skittered out from her spot behind a car, wondering just how the _hell_ she was going to drag Francis when she could barely open a jar.

Oh god, it wasn't dead. It was clutching at its ruined face and staggering around, howling and... and sinking to one knee...

Francis coughed and she looked down at him, eyes wide. The sounds of quickly approaching footsteps drew her attention next, and Bill was crouched down next to Francis, offering him a hand up. The biker clasped a hand around Bill's forearm, the other around Louis', and let himself be dragged to his feet with a pained grunt.

He put his hands on his thighs and bent down, panting, and Bill started to laugh.

"You crazy son of a bitch," Bill said, his voice shaking only slightly, "The _hell_ were you thinking?"

"Fuck if I'm... gonna die in a... Walmart... parkin' lot," Francis panted, looking up and offering Bill a ferocious smile.

Louis, meanwhile, had crouched down next to Zoey and put a hand lightly on her back.

"You okay?" he asked her, looking her over.

"Just winded," she said, voice thin, nodding at Francis, "Can you_ believe_ him?"

"Glad he's on our side," Louis smirked, "Zombietron was definitely not all he was cracked up to be."

"God, I'll never laugh at that joke again," she said, standing and holstering her pistols. She was trembling too much to bother reloading right now.

Assured that she was all right, Louis approached Francis and held his hand up. Francis eyeballed him a moment and then understood, standing up straight to give the businessman a high five.

"You okay man?" Louis wondered.

"Yeah, yeah," the biker said, "All in a days work."

"Better be careful," Zoey said with a shaky smile, "The cocky risk taker always ends up going down in the finale. It's not all bad, though. You'll save us all in the process."

"Pfeh," the biker snorted, "I'm fuckin' indestructible."

"Lemme have a look at yah," Bill insisted, gesturing for Francis to sit on the hood of a car. Despite his bravado, Francis sat heavily and let Bill fuss without protest.

"How many kinds of zombies _are _there?" Louis wondered, going towards the slumped, bleeding carcass of the monster. His morbid curiosity was winning out over his fear, and Zoey crept up behind him, peering at it.

"I hope that one is the only one of its kind," Zoey said quietly, "Somehow I don't think we'd be quite so rad against another one."

"If Bill hadn't of found that shotgun we'd be goners," Louis said grimly, looking down at his pistol, "It didn't even seem to notice these bullets."

"We'll have to keep an eye out for more police cruisers," Zoey said, "Or a sports store or something."

Feeling steadier, Zoey let the empty clips drop out of her pistols and reloaded, wondering how many bullets they'd wasted trying to take just _one_ giant zombie down.

"You've got the Devil's luck, Francis," she heard Bill comment behind them, looking over her shoulder, "Don't think I'd test it out any more, though, if I were you."

"Ahh, quit fussin'," Francis snorted, waving Bill off, "I'm fine. We should keep movin' in case that thing's mom shows up."

It was as good a suggestion as any, and they began to make their way towards the expressway, winding their way around cars and following the signs. The further they got from the Walmart, the more infected they started to see again, and sight awaiting them as they peered down an overpass onto the expressway wasn't a cheerful one.

It was packed with cars, and any spot of pavement that wasn't covered by a car or rubble was occupied by corpses, both the moving _and_ unmoving kinds.

"Well, shit," Bill commented, putting a leg up on the railing and scowling. He flicked a cigarette disdainfully down at the shambling infected, inadvertently starting a fight between two of them. They clawed and yowled at each other viciously until one of them joined the unmoving.

"What now?" Louis asked, "We could walk along the service drive until we found a clearer patch of road. It can't _all_ be like this."

"Look!" Francis exclaimed. All three of them swiveled and drew their weapons in the direction he pointed, until he added, "A liquor store!"

"Francis you _jackass_," Bill snarled, slapping the biker hard in the back of the head, "What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"Hey! Ow!" Francis protested, balling his hands into fists, "Fuck you, old man. I just saved yer ass!"

"Save my ass a few more times, son, and maybe we'll be even," Bill snapped back, staring the biker down, not the least bit intimidated.

"Guys, hang on," Louis said, waving a hand between them and pointing further down the street, "Check it out."

"A fire station?" Zoey said, incredulous. She got it a beat later, however, and nodded eagerly, "Oh, hell yeah, they've gotta have a dispatch radio or something right? We should check it out!"

"Good eye, Louis," Bill said pointedly, shouldering past Francis, who stared daggers into the older man's back. He didn't retaliate, however, stalking after Bill without another word.

They passed the liquor store – Francis cast it a long, mournful look, but didn't say anything out loud – and approached the fire station cautiously. Zoey kept an eye out for one of the safehouse symbols. Maybe there would be one at the fire station, though she doubted they'd stay inside it unless there were some more people hunkered down in it. They still had the entire night ahead of them.

Zoey looked around for any stray police cruisers as well, but knew it was a futile gesture. Likely they'd find the fire engine bays empty, all the emergency personal having been called out into the city or the surrounding suburbs.

Her suspicions were confirmed when they stood in front of the fire station, staring up at the building in collective silence. Bill took that moment to light a cigarette and started forward, motioning to the others to follow.

Keeping themselves tightly packed, they had to contend with some zombie firemen inside, and in a room with 'DISPATCH' on the door, they found a body slumped back in its chair, a gun still clutched in its hand.

"Took the quick way out," Bill grunted, shoving the rolling chair away, "Light."

All three of them shined their flashlight's on the radio, though Zoey kept glancing nervously at the dead body, expecting it to rise up and fling itself at them. It was shot in the head, though, so it couldn't. Right?

There was a crackle that made all of them jump and Bill frowned, leaning closer to it and tinkering with it. Zoey didn't have the first clue how that sort of radio worked, and assumed Bill knew what he was doing as he slowly cycled through different varieties of static.

A voice leapt out at them after awhile, and they listened in almost reverent silence, as though they were collectively willing the rather obviously automated message to bear them miraculous news.

"... gheny County residents are advised to barricade themselves inside their homes. Those unable to do so are encouraged to make their way to their nearest military evacuation zone. Do not attempt to touch or approach military personnel. Keep your hands above your heads at all times. Respond immediately if addressed by military personnel. Violation of these rules may result in deadly action being taken. The following areas have been designated evacuation zones..."

They all leaned closer to the radio as it began to drone out a list of places that, at first, they either didn't recognize or they were much to far away from to hope to get too. Some, like Point Park and Walmart, they already knew to be abandoned. What were the chances that any of the others on the list would pan out?

"Fairfield isn't too far from here," Louis muttered quietly, "I don't know about going to a hospital, though."

"My parents own a cabin in Riverside," Zoey said, trying not to let any hope creep into her voice. They had a quaint cabin there, and her father enjoyed summers fishing on the lake on the rare occasions he took time off. What if they'd gone there when things went bad? Maybe they were holed up in their cabin, waiting anxiously to hear word from her.

"_Fuck_ the airport, and _double_fuck the National forest," Francis frowned, "None a' these places seem like a good idea. And this message is fuckin' automated, so who knows if they even-"

He was hushed by three people and pressed his lips together irritably. Once the message cycled, however, they were still left with only four viable options, none of them certain.

"One'll have to do," Bill said, turning the volume down a bit so they could talk, "We gotta keep movin'. The extraction point at Allegheny National Forest sounds like the best bet to me. Votes?"

"Riverside," Zoey said, feeling no small twinge of guilt at her selfish reasons. In all likelihood her parents were murdered in their homes, or shambling around their condo bumping into walls. And if they had somehow made it to the cabin, there was no guarantee they didn't get infected in transit, or... any number of things, really. How could she _not_ hope, though?

"I'm with you, Bill," Louis said, flicking an apologetic and guilty look at Zoey. She noticed it and looked down at her sneakers, feeling a bit like dirt. The forest was probably all but deserted compared to a densely packed small town. It was the better choice.

"None of the above," Francis protested, "All those places are probably already hosed!"

"If you're not gonna vote, Francis, you can't complain later," Bill said to him.

"Riverside, then," he said. Zoey would've felt good about his choice if it weren't for the fact that he was pretty obviously only saying it to spite Bill, "Who's gonna be the tie breaker? Hey, buddy, help us out."

He shined his flashlight at the corpse on the chair.

The corpse didn't answer. Louis muttered something about crazy people but didn't offer anything more.

"If... if I could call my parents somehow," Zoey said meekly, averting her eyes from the dead body, "And see if they're... um... I mean we could just go to the forest, if they're not..."

She looked up when she heard a plastic clicking against plastic, and Bill silently proffered her a phone that was sitting on the desk. The room was crowded with four adults in it, and they shuffled around so she could get up next to it. Hesitant, she put the phone up to her ear, shocked that there was still a dial tone. What were the odds? Water and power were still working, she supposed, so why not landlines?

No answer at the condo. The machine didn't pick up, which she thought was a bad sign, but she pressed on. Her father's cellphone went to voicemail, but she was informed by a cheerful computer that the inbox was full. Next she tried her mother's cell, with the same result, and she stared at the phone for a few minutes, finding that her hands were suddenly made of lead. She was going to call the cabin, and it would go to the machine. Nobody was going to pick up.

Her parents were dead.

Though it was probably easy to guess her mental state, she was still surprised when Bill put a hand on her shoulder and said, "You won't know for sure unless you try, kid."

Swallowing hard (when had her mouth gone so dry?) Zoey dialed the number slowly, twirling the cord tight around her finger as it rang once, twice... _click_.

Her heart leapt into her throat and her posture straightened.

"Hello!? Dad!?"

"_We're sorry_," the automated operator said after a three-note tone, "_The number you're trying to reach has been disconnected. If you require assistance, please stay on the line and an operator will-_"

The phone slid out of her grasp and she covered her mouth with both hands. She couldn't breathe. It was too crowded in here and there wasn't enough air to go around and _her parents were dead_. Zoey struggled to fight her way past the three men with a strangled cry. She had to get outside and _scream_. If she did that she would be okay. She just needed to get away from these complete strangers and breathe her own air and-!

An arm wrapped around her waist and kept her from going anywhere and she struggled angrily.

"Let me go!" she snapped, "I can't breathe in here _let me go goddamnit!_"

"Calm down first," Bill said, hooking another arm under one of hers as she fought to break his hold, "It's _all right_, Zoey."

"It's _not _all right!" Zoey shrieked at him, "They're dead! _They're dead!_ The last thing I said to my dad was 'whatever' and I hung up on him! I didn't apologize! I never got to apologize to him and now he's _dead._"

"I'm sorry, kid," the veteran said, his hold on her like iron, "Stop wearin' yourself out and take a deep breath."

"Hey, Zoey," Louis said, attempting to help Bill calm her down, "Hey, come on, at least _you're_ okay. They were your parents. They would be glad to know you survived."

Francis said nothing, only watching her with a surprisingly empathetic expression.

"I'll knock yah out if I have too," Bill warned her, "Get ahold of yerself, Zoey. Come on. Don't lose it now."

Her snarls and struggling trailed off and she sagged against the older man, swallowing against her now raw throat. The air in the dispatch room was stale, but there was enough for her to breath, and she gulped in shivery breaths as she tried to take control of herself. Of course they were dead. _Everyone_ was. Even the four of them in this _room_ were dead – maybe they were immune, but it wasn't doing them many favors, was it? How many other immunes had been swarmed by zombies, killed before they even found any others?

"I need a hug," Zoey said miserably. Bill cautiously let her go and she turned around to hug the old man, who responded by very stiffly returning her embrace.

"How come the old guy is gettin' all the play?" Francis said, breaking his silence.

"Fuck you, Francis," she mumbled into Bill's jacket.

"There she is!" the biker said, cheerful. She couldn't see him, but she could hear the grin in his voice.

"I guess we're going to the forest, then?" Louis said quietly. Though he struck her as the sort of person who'd be happy to talk things out with her, they weren't really in a position to have a heart to heart about losing loved ones.

"Guess so," Bill said, gently prying Zoey off of him, "Sound all right to you, kid?"

Zoey nodded, muttering a, "_Sorry, guys_," while looking at her (_bloodstained_) sneakers. Nobody seemed to fault her for her outburst, at least, so that was something. Numbly, she forced herself to look up and out for danger when they made their way back out onto the street

She tilted her head when she heard a sharp crack while they debated the best way to reach the national park, and she had a rather unpleasant realization when a nearby window shattered: Someone was shooting at them.

* * *

_**A.N.:** Thank you for the glowing reviews! As a reward, you get a cliffhanger._


	4. The Liquor Store

Not for the first time that night, they scattered. At least, the others did – she was staring at the broken window, head tilted to the side like a curious dog. Who would be _shooting_ at them?

Zoey squeaked as an arm snaked around her middle and yanked her back into the fire station, and from her vantage behind Mount Francis, she watched Bill and Louis scrambled behind a car. They sank down low when the driver's side window burst like someone had whacked it with a ball peen hammer. Or a bullet.

"Who the hell is shooting at us!?" Francis yelled as he set Zoey on her feet, back pressed against the wall near the corner. It was a good thing they'd cleared the zombies out beforehand. Being paired off would have made it a fair bit harder to deal with them.

"Some whackjob up on top of the liquor store!" Bill shouted back, "I saw a glint, probably a scope!"

"Fuckin' psycho," Francis muttered.

A few shots ricocheted off the pavement and Zoey sighed. What sort of maniac shot at _living _people when there was a whole expressway of zombies not a ten second walk from where he was perched?

"We're pinned down," Bill called out.

"Hang on!" the biker said, turning to Zoey and nodding back into the station, "Let's see if there's a back door. We'll go teach this asshole a lesson about shootin' at people."

Zoey nodded, having remained mute since her phone call, and Francis frowned at her a little.

"Not even a crack about back doors? Lighten up, kid," he said, giving her hair a chummy ruffle as he made his way ahead of her. The action made her grimace and pull her head away and she followed, still silent, annoyed that he felt like he could just... _do_ that sort of thing. That was his version of being sensitive, she supposed. His way of trying to make her feel better. She wished he wouldn't bother.

They made their way cautiously through the station, closing doors as they went. Zoey watched behind them, extra jittery. They might've missed some of the zombies, and she still wasn't used to the way they just _ran_ at her with flailing arms.

She heard a strange noise and froze, automatically pressing her back against the biker's.

"What's that?" she asked in a hushed whisper. Though she tried very much to focus, it reminded her of how the Predator growled. That couldn't be good. Francis was big, but he was no Schwarzenegger.

"Hunter," Francis said, "Stay close."

"If I get any closer I'll be up your ass," she snapped at him. Francis laughed (how could he laugh at a time like this!?) and started to move forward, "We're almost to the back door, I think. It says emergency exit dead ahead."

"If the power is still on here maybe we should use a window," Zoey whispered back, "It might set off the alarm if we open it. I mean, it _is_ a fire station."

"It'll be fine," he said, "Two blind corners at the end a'this hall. I think I know where he is, though."

Zoey imagined she'd be pretty confident herself if she'd flung herself at a zombie built like a tank and lived to tell the tale. She kept her reservations quiet and turned around to watch Francis. Whatever was lurking in the shadows ahead of them was more important than a rogue zombie sneaking up behind. They weren't terribly sneaky creatures, anyway.

"Where are you, yah little weasel?" Francis said with a sneer, stepping out of the hallway and quickly facing right with a '_Ha!_' of triumph. He lowered the muzzle of his gun slightly after a moment, and Zoey could only assume that it wasn't there.

She turned around again quickly when she heard a terrible scream, but there was nothing behind them. Behind _her_, though, there was a solid thump, a grunt, and then Francis was screaming his head off.

"Getitoff_getitoff!_"

The thing on Francis wasn't all that big but the way it was ripping into him with its claws made it impossible for him to do anything but futilely defend himself. She... she couldn't shoot it! She'd shoot Francis! He'd probably been shot before, but...

Zoey let out a warcry and charged at the vicious thing, kicking it in the middle and sending it staggering back. She wasn't very strong, however, and it was only momentarily off balance. Soon it was crouching and growling menacingly at her as she brought her pistols to bear.

They both acted at once. The hunter pounced and she began to unload both clips into it at point blank range, running through a gamut of curses as though they might hurt the thing where the bullets didn't. It pitched forward with a petulant wail as Zoey stood over Francis, shoulders heaving, eyes wide. She'd killed it. She'd kicked its _ass_.

"Ha! HA! Fuck _you!_" she said shrilly to its limp, bleeding corpse. For once she hadn't gotten her ass kicked by something! _Yesssss_.

"Hey."

Zoey blinked and looked down at Francis, noting that she had a foot planted firmly on either side of him.

"You should start wearin' a skirt," he said, voice pained despite his bravado, "Just sayin'."

"Creep. You okay?" she asked, crouching down beside him and training the flashlight on him. His brand new singlet was shredded and stained red, mostly along his sides, and he sat up with a wince and a groan.

"Yeah," the biker grimaced, "I'll be all right. Just a flesh wound."

She backed away from him a pace, giving him room, and poked the hunter with her toe while she reloaded.

"I think maybe I used too many bullets," she admitted.

"No such thing," Francis assured her, bending down to grab his shotgun again, "Thanks for, uh, savin' my ass and all."

"No problem. You sure you're okay?" Zoey asked, shining her flashlight at him, "That thing was like, ripping _chunks_ off of you."

"I didn't lose nothin' important," he assured her, "C'mon, we gotta hurry before that whacko starts lobbin' grenades at Bill and Louis or some shit."

Zoey nodded, flicking a look at the window again. They really ought to just go through that, just to be safe. Even the door seemed to be trying to communicate with them, stating '_KEEP CLOSED AT ALL TIMES – ALARM WILL SOUND_' in furious red letters.

"Ladies first," Francis said in a corny voice, pushing the emergency exit open for her.

It triggered the alarm.

"Son of a bitch!" he growled, glaring at the door as though it had committed some grievous offense. Once they were both outside they hurriedly shut it, but the alarm continued to blare out. Zoey put her hands over her ears, grimacing, and noted that they could only just make out the back of the liquor store.

"Now what?" Zoey shouted over the alarm. Well, she'd tried, right?

"This way," he shouted back, breaking into a jog towards the liquor store. There were a few other buildings to pass behind, and there were a few chain link fences blocking their path. As they moved away from the noise, Zoey moved her hands away from her ears and froze in her tracks, hearing something else.

The howls of an incoming swarm. She had a sudden vision of all the zombies down on the expressway sprinting and clawing their way up to get to the alarm.

"Shit!" she said, "_Shit_, Louis and Bill are stuck out front! They're sitting ducks!"

Francis looked grim and headed around to the side alley, obviously thinking along the same lines as her – they'd deal with the zombies first, then the crazed gunman. Not a great combination. They stopped short when they reached the edge of the building, staring at the swarm welling up from the road below. Those that weren't scaling the concrete barrier or bursting out of nearby shops were running full tilt for the fire station. From where they stood they could even see some swarming over the car Bill and Louis were stuck behind.

It was difficult to hear anything over all the racket, and when Francis opened fire on the horde, Zoey was convinced she shouldn't even bother trying to think. She began to fire as well, trying to take more well aimed, controlled shots to keep from burning through all of her bullets. Her success was varied – some zombies seemed more willing to keel over than others.

"Throw one of those bomb things!" Zoey exclaimed, glancing down at Francis, who scowled but didn't take his eyes away from the infected. Some of them had begun to veer over in their direction instead of the car and they were forced back further into the alley.

"Think they're gonna hear a little beepy fire alarm over this shit?" he asked her, "Goddamn, isn't there a way to turn that shit _off?_"

Zoey looked over her shoulder, contemplating going back and doing just that. Splitting up even _more_ was a stupid idea, though, and if Francis didn't cover the alley they get swarmed anyway. On the other hand, they were going to run out of bullets before they finished off the mob.

"Be right back," she said, running out of Francis' reach, back the way they came.

"_Zoey!_" he called out, "What the hell!?"

She ignored him and darted around the corner. A cursory glance of the back alley told her that it was clear and she pulled the door open, the alarm so close it was practically buzzing inside of her skull. Zoey shined her flashlight around wildly, trying to find the source of the noise. Only when she forced herself to search more methodically did she finally see it up near the ceiling. The alarm was echoing out of the nearby ventilation shaft, amplifying the noise. She stepped back against the opposite wall, cringing in anticipation of the debris that would likely fly off, and fired at it.

One bullet made the alarm take on a crazy, surreal pitch, the second and third missed, and the forth took it down. The alarm struggled vainly for a time but eventually wound down. Her ears continued to ring afterwards, only the howling of the infected registering through the droning whine of her destroyed cilia.

Mission accomplished, she headed back out into the alley, rubbing one of her ears in a futile attempt to dispell the ringing. _Eeesh_ it was probably one of the most annoying sounds in the world, right up there with klaxxon-upstaging alarm clocks and that annoying _beep_ fire detectors made when they were out of batteries. She'd nearly made it to the side ally when there was a loud _boom_ and she broke into a jog, eyes wide. Holy shit, stuff was blowing up!

Rounding the corner she found Francis in a crouch, back to the street with his arms over his head for protection. He started to rise and caught sight of her, scowling and poking a finger in her direction.

"The _fuck_ were you thinkin', runnin' off like that?" he demanded, standing up and glowering down at her as she jogged up, "Don't get all suicidal just 'cause your parents bit it!"

Zoey gaped at him, struck by the baldness of his presumption before she could manage a reply.

"Just because I had an _idea_ doesn't mean I'm suicidal," she snapped back at him, "I had like_ five_ minutes to cope, by the way, so _fuck you_ for acting like it's not a big deal!"

She poked him hard in the middle of the chest for both syllables of her '_fuck you_'.

Francis' lips were pressed into a flat line and he smoothed both his hands over the top of his head, obviously trying to keep a lid on some less than gentlemanly behavior.

"I didn't_ say _that," he finally said, "I'm just _sayin'_ that you shouldn't go runnin' off by _yourself_. You saw how quick that hunter took me down. It _ain't _safe."

"Whatever," Zoey said, "We should make sure Bill and Louis are okay."

"They are," he said, "One of them threw the pipebomb."

"Is that what that big kaboom was?"

"Yeah," he grunted, still scowling at her. She ignored him and stepped to the side, intending to go around him. They still had to deal with the crazy shooter – Bill and Louis couldn't stay hunkered down behind the car forever.

A hand closed around her upper arm and she looked over her shoulder.

"What the _hell_, Francis?"

"Don't go pokin' your head around corners, neither. You'll get it blown off."

She stared back at him blankly, feeling her temper come to a boil. It boiled over, fizzed on the heating element, and settled. Zoey relaxed a little and shrugged her arm – he let her go, watching her with a wary, worried frown as he awkwardly fussed with his shotgun.

"I won't," she said, "Promise."

He was a pretty high strung worry wort for a biker, in her humble opinion. She thought she'd proved her equal badassery by saving him, but someone it had generated the exact opposite effect.

"You guys still alive over there?" Louis called out. The sharp crack of the mad gunman ran out again and they could hear Bill cursing roundly.

"Sorry, we were just makin' out!" Francis called back. Zoey rolled her eyes and made a disgusted noise.

"So what's our plan?" she asked.

"Find that guy and blow his head off," he said, heading further back into the alley. Francis holstered his shotgun and started to scale the chain link fence, and she got the feeling he'd had practice at this particular activity. Once he was up and over she started to climb up next, considerably clumsier than he was. He hovered on the other side, obviously intending to catch her if she fell, and she was very proud of herself when she landed on her own two feet.

"What's _really_ our plan?" she asked quietly, keeping her eyes trained on the roof line. They weren't in sight of the liquor store yet, but if they weren't careful they'd get their own heads blown off by the sniper.

"That's it," he insisted.

"We should at least try to _talk _to him first," Zoey said, "Maybe he's just scared and confused."

"_Chicks_," Francis snorted disdainfully.

"What!?"

"That whackjob is keepin' Louis and Bill pinned down with warning shots and you wanna _talk_ to him?" he said with an incredulous sneer.

"Cut the chatter," Zoey said, well aware of her level of cheekiness, "He's got to know we're coming so let's not make it that much easier."

"I hate whackjobs," Francis muttered.

They scaled two more fences and they were finally in the back alley of the liquor store. Zoey put a hand over her nose, the smell of rot hitting her first before she saw the slumped over bodies, some of them still half-propped up against the side of the building. There were holes in their heads, she realized, and she had a sinking feeling they might not have been infected when they acquired the wounds.

"Jesus," the biker said. Both of them kept a wary watch skyward, but so far they seemed to be undetected. Either the gunman had other plans, or he was focused on Bill and Louis.

The two of them huddled near the back alley door and Francis put a hand on the doorknob, raising his eyebrows at her. She nodded at him, pistols ready, and he began to slowly turn it, mouth slightly open in anticipation.

It made a click and with a light push, he opened the door a crack. Unlocked.

Zoey mouthed '_Trap!_' to Francis and he pulled a face, shrugging at her, as though to say '_So, what?_'. She didn't know how to signal '_Let's find another way in so we don't get murdered by a Home Alone style booby trap_' and just rolled her eyes, instead making an 'After_ you_' motion with both hands.

He mouthed a countdown from five and pushed the door open all the way. There was a cheerful chime and for the first time they heard muffled swearing.

"Get in get_ in!_" Francis hissed. He motioned her in with his gun and she scurried inside, Francis close behind to shut it behind them. The chime went off again and they both froze, only the light coming in from the front windows illuminating the store. It refracted colorfully through the bottles but she didn't take long to admire it, instead searching for a door that might give them roof access. Surprisingly, so was Francis. She'd been expecting him to start looting the coolers.

They were both silent, listening hard for some evidence that the gunman was coming down to confront them. Zoey worked her jaw a little, trying to make her ears pop, the dull '_eeeeeeeee_' drowning out soft sounds. The minor annoyance was enough to keep her from feeling too tense. Whoever the guy was, he couldn't sneak up on them, right?

"Back room is there," Francis said, nodding off to the right, "Maybe that's where the stairwell is. Kinda small in here for such a broad buildin'."

"Yeah," Zoey said. They both crept towards the door, guns aimed at it, and Zoey winced as one of her ears finally popped. Only one, though, making her feel like someone had just plugged up the other one. Goddammit it was one of the worst feelings in the world. She holstered one gun and rubbed at her ear vigorously, pretty sure the dull wail was going to make her go insane if she didn't stop it.

Francis must've heard something before she did, because without warning he shoved her roughly away from the door, leaping in the other direction as a loud _ratatatatata_ split the air, splintering the door and bursting bottles of liquor in its way. How many guns did that asshole _have!?_

"You aren't going to get_ me_, sinners!" a muffled voice announced, "God has judged you all but _I_ am pure! I will speed you on your way to your final judgment!"

Zoey scooted back along the floor as she heard footsteps, partly on instinct and partly because Francis was making shooing motions at her in the aisle across from her. She didn't dare stand up. Judging by the bits of the door, peeping up would be a good way to get her skull sawed in half.

Crazy as the man was, he wasn't stupid, and he didn't venture far past the door, staying out of sight and waiting for them to make the first move. Across the aisle Zoey could see cogs turning slowly in Francis' head and he made a weird motion with his fingers in front of his mouth and then gestured to her, raising his eyebrows.

She got it a beat later. He wanted her to talk.

"We're immune!" she called out, shuffling around until she had some cover behind a beef jerky end cap, "We're not... we're not _sinners_, we just want to make our way to the evac zone. We-"

"_Silence!_" the man shrieked. She couldn't quite figure out what was muffling his voice if his door was in splinters. Maybe he had a face mask on?

"I know it's screwed up but you don't have to shoot at us. We're not trying to hurt you," she said.

"This is your punishment!" he said shrilly, "Did you see how they ran to you, drawn to your _sins!?_ They will purify your sin-soiled flesh and expedite you to your judgment!"

Zoey grimaced. This was already going nowhere – he was just repeating the same stuff.

"Are you immune?" she tried.

"I AM _PURE!_" the man said, voice breaking from the strain of all his yelling.

She peeped back down the long aisle and made eye contact with Francis. He grimly held up his hand, fingers splayed, and she took it as a count of five. Then he made a little gun out of his hand and mimed firing it. Zoey swallowed and nodded. It was a little... no, it was a _lot _messed up, shooting a normal (_crazy_) person instead of a zombie. They were essentially murdering the poor man who'd probably just lost his marbles when his family had tried to eat him.

Shotgun in one hand, Francis grabbed a bottle of wine off the shelf and threw it into the air. The man yelled in alarm and it burst. Zoey was on her feet a second later... and realized she couldn't see over the shelves. _Fuck!!_

She heard the shotgun fire and ducked down again instinctively, covering her head as bullets sprayed everywhere. A furtive look down the aisle told her that Francis was miraculously unharmed, his wine bottle ruse having panned out, and she stood up straight again to meet him in the aisle.

"The hell is on his face?" Francis frowned, crouching down next to the still twitching body, "Jesus, where'd he get a gasmask?"

"Ugh," Zoey muttered. There was a very gory hole in the center of the man's chest and his blood was seeping out of him in swiftly weakening spurts.

"Whacko," the biker said, standing and stepping over him, "Wonder what else he's got in here?"

"We should get Bill and Louis first," she said, trying to just avoid looking at the fresh body entirely. All the other dead bodies she'd seen before hadn't really bothered her but _this_... maybe because she'd been around when it happened. Whatever the problem was, it was getting to her, and she headed for the front door. Opening it a crack, she called out '_All clear!_' for Bill and Louis' benefit, and it wasn't long before the two of them were jogging up to the liquor store.

"Nice work, kids," Bill praised as he stepped inside, "Except for setting off the alarm. Who did _that?_"

Zoey and Francis shared a look, and then pointed at each other, making Bill laugh when Zoey rolled her eyes.

"You guys okay?" she asked them instead, looking them both over. They were a little roughed up, and one leg of Louis' pants were torn, his sock bloody from where... _something_ had happened to it. He noticed her looking and waved a hand dismissively.

"One of em' crawled_ under_ the car and bit me," Louis said, "Had to beat its head in to get it to let go."

"Ew," Zoey grimaced.

"Louis, catch!" Francis called out, tossing what looked like an uzi over to the dark skinned man, "How's that strike your fancy, eh?"

"_Shit _yeah," Louis grinned, "Any ammo for – whoa! How close were you when you shot this dude, Francis?"

"Pretty close," the biker grunted, apparently unphased. He stepped over the body and moved into the back room, calling out, "Stairs here. Anybody want a hunting rifle? Slightly used!"

Zoey did her best not to look at the body, edging around it to get into the back room with the others, and she was sorely disappointed at the state of the room. He'd obviously been hunkered inside of it for awhile, but there weren't any crazy writing's or pictures plastering the walls. Maybe he'd been the kind who just sat on the edge of the bed and rocked.

Francis had just_ killed_ a man. She felt like she ought to be more bothered by it.

"This'll come in handy," Bill said, peering through the scope with practiced ease, "Smile."

"Don't point that at me," Francis scowled, pushing the muzzle away, "You're gonna have a flashback an' blow my fuckin' head off."

"Well, now that we cleared out the expressway, should we take it to the evacuation zone?" Louis wondered.

"Hang on," Francis insisted, "I gotta get some extra supplies."

He grinned as he stepped out into the store again and Zoey rolled her eyes.

"Glad you guys are okay," she said, "I was afraid Francis was going to end up being the last man on earth."

"At least you'd have a lot of liquor to help ease your pain," Louis joked. Bill sniggered, shaking his head as he helped Louis sort through a rather sloppy pile of ammunition.

"I can _hear _you in there, assholes!" Francis called back.

They eventually joined the biker in the main store (nobody commented on the blood they were tracking all over the dirty white linoleum) and Bill let out a beleaguered sigh.

"You ain't carryin' a case of beer with you, Francis," the veteran said.

"Nobody's makin' _you_ carry it," the biker said stubbornly. Zoey hadn't even thought his rough face capable of a pout, but there it was. It was like Bill was telling him he wasn't getting a bicycle for his birthday.

"Six pack," Bill compromised.

"That's barely enough for a buzz!" Francis said.

"This _ain't _a situation that suits bein' drunk!" the veteran argued back.

"Like hell," Francis snorted, angling his chin up slightly in defiance.

"Does it have t'be beer?" Bill asked after a long silence, looking around, "Grab some bourbon and let's _go_."

"One beer for the road and whiskey for later," Francis said. Bill put his hands in the air in defeat and shoved the door open, muttering to himself, causing Francis to cheer, "All_ right!_"

He grinned broadly and broke into the case, grabbing four long necks and heading out as well, passing Zoey and Louis a beer. One hand free, he snagged a fifth of Jack Daniels from a display. Once he'd handed off a beer to Bill, he tucked the glass bottle in his pack and shouldered it again.

There was a smattering of weak hisses and subsequent clinks as the caps were discarded. Francis raised his bottle.

"World peace?" Zoey suggested, assuming they were making a toast.

"Seeing tomorrow," Bill suggested. Nobody could think of a better toast than that, and after clinking their bottles together, they all took a long drink. Zoey grimaced. She didn't have much of a taste for beer, but when in Rome...

They stuck to the service drive as they walked, deciding that they'd rather be able to duck into and behind buildings than be trapped down on the expressway. Eventually they'd have to use it, but for now it was safer up top. Zoey nursed her beer, finding that it didn't taste quite as bad once she'd gotten halfway through the bottle. It was still pretty yech, though. Louis seemed to be in the same camp as her – not a fan, but not about to pass up a free drink during such dark times.

Francis was the first to finish his beer, but when he wound up to throw it, Bill caught his arm.

"Wait," the veteran said, "Don't chuck it. I got an idea."

They stopped at a gas station that had a car halfway inside of it, and while Louis and Zoey maneuvered their way into the station itself to find a map of some sort, Bill and Francis skulked around the derelict cars.

"Wonder what they're doing?" Zoey mused, moving her flashlight around casually, empty beer in the other hand. If they were going to get jumped by zombies, they would have by now. Only the nastier ones lied in wait.

"Dunno," Louis said, "Hey, over here. Help me find the right one."

She crouched down on the floor next to Louis and pawed through the maps that had been spilled from an upset turnstile.

"Lucky it's a tourist thing," she said, handing Louis a map of the forest itself, "Not that it's going to do us much good now."

"Here," Louis said, pulling out another, "Allegheny County. This should be good."

"Should we get one of Pittsburgh?" Zoey frowned.

"County map shoulder cover it, right?"

"Better safe than sorry," she said, grabbing one anyway, "Can't hurt."

She started to stand up again, but when Louis stayed crouched she paused halfway, shooting him a questioning look.

"You doin' okay?" he asked her quietly. Zoey crouched down again, looking at a map instead of him, fidgeting with it a little. She wasn't really _sure_ how she was doing. Though she wasn't freaking out anymore, she didn't feel qualified to make a statement about her own well being. It wasn't as though she'd watched them die, and at this stage, she'd seen her fair share of dead people.

"Just a little... _disconnected_," Zoey said, looking up to offer him a wan smile, "I'll be okay. Thanks, though, Louis. For asking."

Louis shrugged and they both stood, squeezing their way out of the small gas station. When they found Bill and Francis, the two of them were siphoning gas out of a car's tank into their empties.

"Hey, bring yours over," Francis said when he spotted them, motioning them over eagerly with a gloved hand.

"What are you guys doing?" Louis said, frowning thoughtfully as he handed the bottle over.

"Molotov cocktails," Bill said with a rather fiendish grin, "That'll clean those zombie bastards up if they swarm us again."

"Damn, nice thinkin'," the businessman said, chuckling a moment later, "You know, last week, I was thinking about telling my boss to shove it. Kinda weird how life works things out, huh?"

He'd obviously intended to spark a conversation, to get to know all of them better, and Zoey didn't feel quite so awkward when neither Francis or Bill seemed game to offer up what they'd been doing the week before. She really didn't want to say anything either – 'being a college dropout' was just _embarrassing_, zombie apocalypse or not.

Louis cleared his throat awkwardly and leaned on the car, trying to catch Zoey's eye for a little help, but she decided to keep a vigilant watch out for zombies instead.

"What maps did you get?" Bill said to break the silence.

"Three," Louis said after a beat, laying the folded up maps on the hood of the car, "One of Pittsburgh, one of the forest, and one of Allegheny County."

Three of them were clustered around the map of the county not long afterwards, shining their flashlights on it and holding it down while Francis kept watch. Zoey was mostly just there to shine her flashlight – she'd never really thought map reading was an important skill between Mapquest and her father's Navman. Bill was studying it intently, tracing a finger lightly over the network of lines.

"We'll have t'take main roads to get out of the city entirely," the old man eventually said as he folded up the maps. Zoey watched enviously as he did it on the first try, "Once we do, though, there are enough back roads to get us there without taking too much longer."

"How long you think it's gonna take, man?" Louis wondered.

"Maybe a week," Bill shrugged, "Maybe less. Depends on how hard we push ourselves an' how bad it is out there."

"Sure we shouldn't drive?" Francis asked over his shoulder.

Bill shot him a look, but when the biker raised his eyebrows instead of smirking, the older man offered him a half shrug, "We'll see. If it's clear, it'd be a good way to cover some extra ground. We'd have t'ditch it the second it started attractin' the wrong kind of attention, though."

"We should try and find a safehouse tonight," Louis said, "Figured we would have seen one by now."

"All right, people," Bill said, handing the maps back to Louis, "Keep your eyes peeled. Let's move."

They were on their feet a lot longer tonight than they had been since Zoey had joined them, and after all the crazy running, climbing and general stress, the downtime served to reminder her how much her feet hurt and her body ached. Was this what it felt like to be old? Or was it just because she had zero muscle tone? A solid week of this, she imagined, and she'd be a _beast_.

The infected were rather thin up on the service drive, even when they got a fair distance from the fire station. Their sharp lookout for any of the wilier creatures returned no results. None of them were terribly disappointed.

Zoey still wasn't used to the grim pall that fell over them as they made their way through the city, but she was starting to understand the purpose for it. Stray conversation might rile up some otherwise placid infected, cover up a soft cough, snort, or growl, and generally distracted from keeping a sharp eye out.

Still, she did wish they could indulge in _some_ entertaining banter. Stuck in her own head, she couldn't escape _thinking_. What if they got to the evac point and it was wiped out? What if the military just ended up shooting them to be safe?

What if they were going to be wandering around like this for months? There didn't seem to be much _point_ in that. If it were up to Bill they'd probably fortify some cabin in the woods and go all rustic and old school, but the idea didn't particularly appeal to Zoey. She didn't want to spend the rest of the life with three strange men. Not that she didn't _like_ them. There was a good rapport going now, though there were times where she still _seriously_ considered kneeing Francis in the balls, but she just... maybe she had been a bit of a screw up a week ago, but she hadn't ruined her _entire_ life. It was just one semester. She could have turned it around.

God, she was so _selfish_. The world had gone straight to hell and all she could think about was having traveling companions that were more to her personal tastes? Maybe none of them were people she would have normally came in contact with, but she'd been doing herself a disservice in that regard. Bill was harsh and stern, but he was soft enough when the situation warranted. She was game to credit him with her continued sanity, in fact. He was watchful of her, but from a distance, not breathing down her neck like Francis did, or shooting her constant sideways look like Louis.

Of the other two, she got along with Louis a bit easier, if only because they seemed to (_formerly_) be a part of the social echelon in which designer shoes mattered at work. The shoes he was wearing were spattered with mud and zombie juices – they'd never be the same. Her own shoes weren't terribly practical for long cross-county hikes, but at least it wasn't some great sacrilege if they got ruined. Somehow Zoey doubted anyone would be making designer _anything_ for a very long time.

Or maybe it was just America that had been hit the hardest. She didn't put it past her country to make some sort of crazy super virus and lose control of it. There had been reports of it spreading in other countries, but there was always the chance they were able to contain it because they saw it coming, right?

Something tugged on her ponytail and she put a hand on her hair in alarm, looking to the side. Francis winked at her.

"It ain't so bad," he assured her, breaking Bill's chatter rule. Bill glanced over his shoulder at them but didn't comment. Perhaps the long silence (and lack of safehouses) was getting to him too.

"It's the zombie apocalypse," Zoey said, "Everything is _totally_ in the toilet. How is it _not_ bad?"

"I got to shoot my landlord," he said, "That guy was a _dick_."

"Was he, uh,_ infected_ at the time?" she wondered, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Yeah, 'course he was!" Francis said. He looked mildly offended by what she was implying.

"So things aren't so bad because you're able to shoot people you don't like?" she clarified.

"Yup," he nodded.

"That's... a, uhm, positive outlook," Zoey said with a small, uncertain laugh. How many times had she threatened to kill someone if she had the chance? Then again, she didn't count herself as capable of actually straight up murdering someone. Francis... the jury was out on him still. Maybe she ought to not judge a book by its cover, no matter how many tattoos were on it.

"Look," Bill said, interrupting their conversation and stopping in his tracks. They had been working their way through the commercial district, but the buildings surrounding them now looking industrial. Gone were the occasional neon signs and colorful facades – now they were flanked by large, dour buildings that had been designed for functionality only. Rusty chain link fences and barbed wire had replaced cheerfully decorated windows and obnoxious signs announcing great deals.

Bill was pointing to warehouse just off to their right. One of the '_NO TRESPASSING_' signs had a safehouse symbol spray painted on it, and the heavy chain and padlock on the large gate languished on the ground instead of holding it fast. In the grim florescent lights on the outside of the warehouse they could make out another symbol, a crude arrow pointing around back. It didn't look terribly inviting to Zoey, but it was worth checking out. Dawn was creeping up on them, and though there was no real urgency to bed down, the sooner they got rest, the sooner they could start out in earnest for the extraction zone.

She felt her nerves return as they made their way across the vacant parking lot, past empty booths. There were plants growing up through the cracks in the old asphalt – it had not been black in many years, she imagined, sun fading it to the pebbly grey so often associated with these sorts of decrepit structures. It was the sort of pavement that would rattle the teeth if gone over on skates or skateboard, and she had a hard time imagining it ever being a place of bustling industry in the face of such decay.

"It's pretty damn out of the way, I'll give it that," Louis said. Zoey glanced at him, glad to see a tense expression on his face as well. She wasn't the only one who got a bad vibe from Hookerville or MethLaboria or whatever this place had acted as in its dilapidated state.

Even the red paint on the door they found (who had started the trend? where had the first one been made?) was dull, the painter having only bothered with one coat, letting the dirty grey door beneath it show through in patches.

"Hello?" Bill said, tapping on the door. There was no response. He tried the door, and though it stuck a moment, a rough shove from Francis made it swing open with a pitiful metallic shriek. The sound made them all hurry inside, and it took all three men to shove it back in place and put up the bar. While they muttered at each other and at the door, Zoey took in a rather... unpleasant scene.

No couches in this safe house. There was a bucket off in the far corner which she could guess the use for, and the blankets piled up in the corner looked...

The word _skeevy_ came to mind. Lice-infested also crossed her mind. How, exactly, were they going to _sleep_ in here? She was concerned she might get tetanus just _standing_ on the cold floor.

"Well, they weren't all gonna be Marriot's I guess," Louis commented, coming to stand next to her.

"This ain't even a Motel 6," Francis said with a smirk. He shouldered off his backpack and rolled his shoulders, crouching down to sift through the blankets while the others looked on, "They ain't too crusty."

"If 'crusty' is an adjective worthy of describing those blankets, I don't know if I want them touching me," Zoey said with a wrinkled nose. Francis raised an eyebrow at her as he sniffed one of the blankets, handing it to her a moment later. She took it gingerly, giving it a sniff of her own and grimacing. Mildew and something she couldn't identify. Maybe it was better that she didn't.

Sun was streaming in through the windows that were higher up in the warehouse, and Zoey was starting to suspect that she wasn't going to get much sleep, if any at all. The most ghetto surface she'd slept on in her life was a couch. The loveseat at the Walmart, in fact. Even the safehouse near her dorm had had a proper sized couch.

"Better than sleepin' out in the open, kid," Bill said, breaking through her thoughts and bringing a guilty expression to her face. She'd probably had a 'I_'m FAR too good to sleep on this floor'_ look going on since they'd walked in.

Bill sat down first, laying his pack out like a pillow, joints popping as he arranged himself on the dingy floor. Following his lead, Louis copied it, though he ended up taking a few things out of his pack to get things just right. Or, at least, right enough to fall into a fitful sleep.

She wasn't surprised to see Francis sitting down with his back to the wall, one knee up. He let a yawn crack his face and scratched a cheek, raising a brow at her when he noticed he was being watched. Zoey looked away and crouched down near the three of them, trying to remove all the hard things from her pack Unfortunately, _everything _in her pack was hard, and she cast a dubious look at Bill and Louis. Bill already had his eyes closed, but she supposed he'd learned to sleep in worse places from his time in the army.

Maybe it was a man thing, being able to sleep almost anywhere. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, but since the only remnant of her injury was a bruise on her forehead, she didn't have any other means of just passing out like she had the past two nights.

_Spoiled brat_, she thought of herself bitterly, _The entire world is screwed and you're simpering about sleeping on a dirty floor. Everyone _else _is coping_.

"Hey," Francis said in a low voice. She looked over, wondering if he'd been watching her attack of emos and finally decided to make a shithead comment about it.

He made a beckoning motion instead, expression uncertain, and patted a thigh, "I'm a good pillow. No uh... _funny stuff_ either, a'right? Promise."

"No way," was her immediate response, scowling at him. Resolved, face burning at his presumption, she flumped her head down on her flat, empty pack and pulled the mangy blanket over herself. _What_ was his issue!? They'd snapped and snarled at each other like dogs and now he wanted her to _sleep_ on him? Maybe the floor was uncomfortable, and her 'pillow' was basically a lumpy nylon barrier against the floor, but at least it wouldn't grope her in her sleep.

That wasn't _entirely_ fair, she decided a moment later, but she wasn't going to put herself in a situation to prove herself wrong. She felt like he was an overprotective big brother, convinced that she was going to get herself exploded if he didn't keep at least one eye on her at all times. Zoey imagined that in the movie version of their lives, she would be secretly charmed by his fussing despite her sassy and independent demeanor, and the audience would be rooting for them to get together before the end. That, of course, meant that one or both of them would be zombie food in the end. True love didn't work out in zombie movies.

The floor gave her no quarter, and her pack may as well have not been there. With the light filtering in, and with no means to block it out, she wondered if she could just try pacing around the warehouse until she was exhausted enough to black out for three or four hours.

_This is stupid_, she thought furiously, _Stop being such snob_.

Zoey sat up and repacked her bag before gathering up her blanket, walking over to where Francis was sitting. He'd very nearly nodded off while she'd been stewing, itching the top of his head as he watched her approach with a guarded expression.

"_Don't _do anything creepy," she told him. It was ridiculous, lecturing a man double her size (and age, she was sure) but she felt _not_ saying anything was sort of like giving permission. And he definitely did _not_ have permission.

"Scouts honor," he said, putting his hands up as she sat next to him.

"Were you _ever_ a boyscout?" she wondered with a tilt of her head.

"Nah. I hate camping."

"It's not a very good oath then, is it?" Zoey pointed out. She didn't _entirely_ mean it – mostly, she was stalling. How many times had she used the ol' '_tee hee my head is in your lap because I'm kinda buzzed!_' flirt to get attention from a guy at a party? That motivation wasn't even close to the case in this instance, but _still_. It was weird.

"I swear on my _shotgun _that I won't molest you in your sleep," Francis said with a smirk. She snorted and covered her mouth, trying not to laugh out loud at the absurdity of his new oath. That wasn't even the _tiniest_ bit comforting.

"You'll have to use a sharpened toothbrush if you go back on it," she warned. Zoey cleared her throat and very awkwardly laid down, resting her head on the biker's leg. She'd sort of gotten used to the smell, likely because she didn't smell much better at this stage, and he seemed sincere enough about the whole thing. Sleeping on the floor still sucked, the cool floor threatening to leech out all the heat the meager blanket managed to keep in, but at least her head wasn't at a weird angle anymore.

Francis refrained from further comment and as she drifted off, and she wondered if he'd ever actually had to shank anyone with a sharpened toothbrush. Maybe that had been an insensitive thing to say.

She'd worry about it in the morning.

* * *

_**A.N.**: Wow. Thank you again for all the reviews/favs/alerts! I'm very glad so many of you are enjoying this enough to leave a comment. I am having a good time writing it, so I suppose everyone wins!_


	5. The Expressway

Zoey stirred, keeping her eyes closed. She was warm and surprisingly comfortable. Memories from the night before attempted to come into focus but she shoved them away, enjoying the bleary bliss being half-asleep brought. The floor was trying bring her around sooner than she wanted, and she burrowed in closer to her pillow, sluggishly dragging her head up and resting it higher.

Something heavy draped around her shoulders and she blinked her eyes open, startled. What was... _oh_. It was an arm.

She had her arms around the solid middle of someone wearing a leather vest, resting her head up near his chest. Slowly, she turned her head enough to peep up at Francis, but he still looked to be asleep despite what he'd done with his arm. So close to him, she could make out the beginnings of grey hair at his temples and in his goatee, though the lines in his face were relatively smoothed out while he slept. There was a thin scar interrupting his shaved head on one side, as though someone had gashed a line through it on accident. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. After all, _she_ was the one who decided to snuggle up before her brain had fully switched on. It wasn't_ his _fault if he cuddled back in his sleep.

If she weren't completely mortified by her predicament, she might've consider giving him shit about it when he woke up.

He was a heavy sleeper, so maybe she could extract herself without disturbing him, and before anyone else was the wiser. Not that where she slept _mattered_, of course. They were all mostly strangers to each other, and it didn't matter if they raised an eyebrow or two. _She_ knew the reason she was cuddled up to a stinky biker was because she hadn't been able to sleep. End of story.

"Gonna wrap it up soon?" Bill's gravely voice broke through her thoughts and she jumped, twisting her head around and regarding the veteran with a wide-eyed, guilty expression. His own expression was unreadable.

Zoey nodded minutely and sat up. Or, at least, she _tried_ too. The second she started to move away, the biker pulled her close again, muttering something intelligible under his breath. _Great_.

"Francis," she hissed. No response. More urgently, using her normal speaking voice, "_Francis_."

The biker grumbled and raised his free hand to rub his face, pulling his hand down over his mouth before finally cracking one eye open.

"Huh?" he said muzzily, rubbing his closed eye, "Wuzmatter?"

"Let_ go_," Zoey said between her teeth, wondering just what shade of red she was right now.

"Oh," Francis grunted after a beat, lifting his arm, "Sorry."

She sat up and scooted away quickly, turning her back to everyone to pretend to fuss with her pack. Francis yawned vocally behind her.

How long had Bill been watching? She hadn't seen Louis where he'd been the night before, either, but he'd been out of her field of vision. Zoey wasn't sure _why_ she was so deeply embarrassed by the situation. It wasn't like it had been anything inappropriate.

Maybe she ought to just admit to herself that Francis confused the hell out of her. On one level, he was a pervy douchebag, but then he'd turned around and fuss over her like she was his little sister.

"Everyone awake?" Louis addressed. She heard a belt buckling and assumed he'd gone to use the bucket. Yergh.

"Just about," Bill said, "Get your ass up, Francis."

Francis snarled something mutinously under his breath and got to his feet, stretching until his back audibly cracked.

"Fuckin' cold ass floor," he grumbled. Zoey had turned around to face the rest of them by now, deciding she'd just play it cool. Francis hadn't made any cracks, so it seemed safe.

"It's gonna be a long walk today," Bill grunted, "Get yer bellyachin' outta the way now."

"Too bad we can't just take a montage to the extraction zone," Zoey mused out loud.

"The_ hell _are you talkin' about kid?"

"You know. A montage. Bunch of clips of stuff happening set to music," she said, smiling sheepishly at his confused expression.

"What music?" Louis asked, playing along. Francis looked to be in Bill's camp, a perplexed expression on his face as he put his pack on.

"Not sure," Zoey said, tapping her lips with one finger, "Something classic and _awesome_, since there'd be lots of zombie shooting. But maybe a little ironic, because you can't have a zombie movie without dark irony."

Bill was shaking his head and Louis laughed, appreciating the idea for the distraction that it was. The war veteran seemed set on kicking their asses into gear today, so a pleasant morning would be something nice to think back on later when their legs felt like they were going to fall off.

Zoey snapped her fingers and grinned, "Life is a Highway!"

"Hell yeah," Louis grinned back.

"Fuckin' nerds," Francis said scornfully.

The mood that morning (_evening? she couldn't keep it straight anymore._) was decidedly more somber than it had been yesterday, and they were ready to leave much sooner as well. Considering how shonky the safehouse was, Zoey didn't think it was surprising that they were eager to leave it behind.

One angry struggle with the rusty-hinged door later, they were back on the road and following signs to an on-ramp marked '79'.

"This'll take us most of the way," Bill explained, "We'll go East when we get to the sixty-two. Should take us where we need to go, assuming we don't run inta' trouble between here and there."

"If we _do_ run into trouble?" Louis asked quietly. The four of them prowled down the on-ramp in a tight knit group, wary of infected.

"We'll take the back roads," the old man said grimly, "Let's just get outta the city for now."

With that rather sobering proclamation, they stepped out onto the expressway. A majority of the traffic had been jammed up closer into the city, and though there were still abandoned cars in their path, they were fewer and farther between.

When the infected were just shambling aimlessly in the street they didn't seem as _real t_o Zoey. Down here, sitting dully in their cars or scratching futilely at the massive concrete walls that surrounded them, she wondered what these people had been like. Obviously they'd been ahead of the pack in fleeing the city. Had they been infected early, thinking they would make it, turning in the middle of their exodus? How many of the littered corpses were actually immunes who had been unlucky enough to be caught up by infected, or killed when someone who'd turned swerved into them?

She knew she really ought to think about something else, but they were surrounded by the evidence of countless violent ends. It wasn't her duty to mourn every single human being who'd been destroyed, but she could at least think about it a_ little_, right? There weren't a lot of people left to do that.

How had it ended for her parents? Had they tried to escape somehow, or had they been attacked in their home?

_Stop it_, she thought harshly, _That isn't helping. It doesn't matter anymore_.

Forcing herself to change the subject, she glanced around at her fellow survivors. She could only see the back of Bill's head. Considering the extremely uncomfortable sleeping conditions, he didn't seem the least bit slowed down, walking briskly at the head of the pack. Louis, off to her left, looked absorbed in his own thoughts like she was. Francis, to her right, looked _bored_. If they got swarmed down here they'd have nowhere to run. They'd have to stage their own Alamo with their backs to a Prius, and he was _bored_.

She swallowed a sigh and just tried to focus on their surroundings. There wasn't much graffiti down here, but at least most of the street lights were still working. It wouldn't be easy for anything to sneak up on them from up top, at least – not even one of the smokers would have an easy time of it.

Once they were out of the city, though, all bets would be off. They'd be surrounded by darkness on all sides. She wasn't looking forward to it. It was doubtful they'd find any safehouses outside of the city, and it was a tad disheartening that they hadn't run into anyone else. The whackjob didn't really count.

Despite her light comments about the montage earlier, the fact that they seemed to be the only people around for miles was depressing. The feeling was insidious, lurking at the corner of her mind, pressing down on her when she was most vulnerable. It was ridiculous to consider the fact that they were the only people left alive in the state, or the country, or the _planet,_ but it certainly_ felt _that way. Even if most of the military wasn't immune, the fact that they had the biggest guns meant they were probably holding out well, right?

_It only takes one_, she thought grimly. Just one person to scratch or bite another and the virus would spread like wildfire, searing its way through healthy humans from the inside out, leaving only an abandoned shell. A tomb.

_That's_ what the ominous walls of the expressway reminded her of, she realized. A massive tomb. All it needed was a lid.

The thought made her shiver and she shrugged her shoulders against it.

Unimpeded by much 'traffic', they all spotted the semi trailer at once, though it was Louis who spoke up about it.

"That doesn't look good," he said. Zoey wasn't sure if he was referencing the way it was stretched out over all the lanes, impeding their progress, or if he was speaking figuratively of what might have caused the accident.

Neither prospect was good.

"We'll climb through the cab," Bill said, not pausing for discussion, "It's just a truck."

"Dun dun _daahh_," Zoey said under her breath. That did make Bill pause and turned around, a confused scowl on his face.

"You got a screw loose, kid?" he asked.

"No, I was just-," she flinched and changed tact, "It's... this isn't a good time to make jokes. I'm sorry Bill."

Bill shook his head and started forward again, and Zoey wished she could melt into her shoes. Sometimes she forgot that not _everyone_ here was trying to think of what scene they were on and what soundtrack was playing. Right now there were _definitely _spookyviolins. They hadn't had a false scare yet. Maybe they were due for one.

_Congratulations on being the biggest nerd left alive on planet earth, Zoey_, she thought miserably.

Upon closer inspection, the semi looked even more ominous. It's trailer was white, unmarked except for countless scratch marks and smears of blood. Both doors of the cab were open, and the inside of the windscreen was caked with gore, as though someone had just... _blown up_ inside of it. There was no damage to it, or at least, none that she could discern. Zoey wasn't an expert on combustion by any means.

"What the fuck is _this_ about?" Francis muttered as they all came up to the cab, "_Je_sus, it smells like _ass_."

"The whole inside is covered," Louis said, grimacing and covering his nose. Zoey had an entire arm over her nose and mouth, eyes watering at the overpowering stench. There was some sort of weird pus colored ooze dripping freely out of the bottom of the cab, and she thought it was safe to assume_ it_ was the source of the smell.

Bill scowled and walked away from the cab, crouching down onto his hands and knees to peer under the trailer.

"_Whatever_ that shit is," the veteran said, "We probably shouldn't get any on us."

"I'm fine with that," Francis said, backing away from the cab and waving at the air in front of him disdainfully.

"Anything over there?" Louis wondered, crouching down as well.

"Us, in a minute," Bill decided. He took off his pack and started to push it in front of him, crawling under the truck. The other three shared looks, and Louis went next.

"All clear," Zoey heard Bill say from the other side, and she glanced up at Francis, who gestured for her to go ahead. She made a face at him, not entirely trusting his motives for crawling behind her. It figured she'd be wearing tight jeans for the end of the world.

"Go ahead," he vocalized, making a shooing motion at her, "I'll be right behind yah."

"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about," Zoey said dryly, taking off her pack and crouching down anyway, "I think you'll owe me like five dollars on the other side."

"You got a price list?" he wondered.

"You are _so_ gross," she said, worming her way under the semi, shoving her pack in front of her with some effort. Someone grabbed it for her when she was near the other side (it was Louis, crouched down and watching the two of them like hawks) and she glanced over her shoulder when she was nearly through. Francis grinned back at her and gave her a thumbs up.

Zoey stood up on the other side and regarded the scene in front of her with an uncertain frown. There were bloody footprints tracking from the cab to the far wall of the expressway, where a rather unrecognizable lump of gore was piled. All the other footprints tracked around it told the whole story – some poor man got mobbed by infected. Why so _many_, though? It looked like a small army had torn into him, flinging bits everywhere.

That the zombies were no longer present wasn't a terribly good sign, either. God, she hoped it wasn't another one of those tank things. There was no place to run or hide down here. Maybe it was turning out to be a clearer path, but it had its disadvantages.

Francis was through last, taking a moment to dust himself off.

Someone coughed, and four variations of 'Bless you' were murmured. A beat later, they were all on edge, guns drawn.

"Where_ is_ it?" Zoey asked urgently, squinting up at a nearby overpass. Was that a regular infected shambling around, or was it the smokey toungey thing?

Bill was crouched, scanning the distance through the scope of his hunting rifle. Of the four of them, he was the only one that didn't sport some kind of panicked expression.

Zoey's breathing was already harsh in her throat, heart hammering in her chest. Oh, god, not that thing again. What if she wasn't lucky this time? What if it dragged her up onto an overpass and they couldn't get to her in time?

"What the-"

Zoey looked at Louis, to check where he was looking, and was confused that he was looking down.

"Oh, _shi-!_"

Louis was suddenly off his feet, falling flat on his face, his gun clattering out of his hands. Francis reacted first, dropping his own gun to seize Louis' wrists before the man was yanked underneath the semi trailer entirely.

"It's got Louis!" Francis exclaimed, bracing a foot against the semi. Cords stood out on his neck as he strained to keep him mostly on their side, but the smoker was unnaturally strong.

"Help me! _HELP MEEE!_" Louis howled, "It's got my leg! Oh, god, don't let it kill me!"

"Zoey, _get in there_," Bill snarled, "I'm keeping us covered!"

She forced herself not to think about it and got down on her hands and knees. Zoey wouldn't think about how the thing had nearly strangled her, how its unnaturally clawed hands dug into her flesh.

It might have crouched down to snare Louis, but now it was a few paces back from the trailer, attempting to drag him out, throwing its weight into the pulls. Her hands were shaking, and the position was awkward, but if he didn't get torn in half, Francis would eventually let go, and then she'd have no shot at all.

"Let him_ go!_" she squeaked at the creature, firing her pistols. Most of her shots missed, but when she did hit it, the creatures tongue went limp and it howled, shambling away under a hail of gunfire.

Louis was rather abruptly no longer next to her and she backed out, shaking, focusing on the businessman instead of her own shattered nerves. She was just wound up –_ he_ was the one who'd just been attacked.

"Did you kill it?" Bill prompted her, putting a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. Zoey jumped when she felt the hand, but shook her head.

"I couldn't... it was running away and I couldn't hit it," she said, "I'm sorry, I'm not very... I'm not a really good shot yet."

"It's all right, kid, take it easy," Bill placated, moving on to Louis, whom Francis was propping up.

"_Shit_," Louis breathed, waving the biker off and leaning against the trailer, "That scared the _hell_ outta me."

"You hurt?" Bill asked.

"I don't think so," he said, slapping Francis on the back, "Thanks man. That's one I owe you."

"Anytime," the biker shrugged.

"We should keep moving," the veteran said, "That thing'll be back once it's licked its wounds."

Zoey felt like they ought to have gone after it (_you should have killed it, how could you have missed, it was _right there), but didn't argue as they set out at a much faster pace. They had been checking behind them frequently already, but now there was almost constantly someone keeping an eye out, sometimes two at a time.

"There are a lot of infected up there," Louis commented softly, gazing along the service drive that ran alongside the expressway. He was limping slightly, but had insisted it was nothing serious. She hoped he wasn't lying for the sake of their group, but if he was seriously injured, she was sure he wouldn't be walking by now.

As they made their way around a curve in the road, they slowly came to a stop. There was an on-ramp just to their right, and the road ahead of them was choked with derelict traffic. Infected shambled around in droves, and they ducked behind a van to get their bearings.

"This ain't gonna be pretty," Bill said.

"Should we throw a pipebomb?" Louis asked, "Or make use of a Molotov?"

"We don't wanna risk blowing up a car in the meantime," Bill said, "If we could draw them out, somehow, maybe then, but... it's risky."

"Don't got a lot of options , do we?" Francis said. Bill shook his head no, but didn't act, obviously trying to figure out _something_ more organized than 'lure the zombies closer'.

Zoey focused on listening for coughing. She picked up on something else instead, breath catching in her throat. _Crying_.

"You hear _that?_" she whispered, waving a hand at them.

"No _way_ someone's out in the open just cryin' and not gettin' their face ripped off," Francis hissed.

"Maybe she's trapped in a car or something, where they can't get to her," Zoey said urgently, "We have to find her!"

Not caring what the others thought, she peered around the van again, trying to spot the source of the crying, eyes daring from car to car. Zoey thought she had a good eye, but the women was tucked away out of sight, wherever she was.

"Should we call out?" she wondered. The sea of zombies between them and the crying woman was rather deep.

"You go and look," Bill said, climbing up on top of the van and bracing the rifle on his shoulder, "I'll cover you. Nice and easy. If they get riled, run like hell."

"Whoa, that ain't cool," Francis protested, "You sendin' her out like a fishin' lure? I'm comin' with you, Zoey."

"You aren't goin' _anywhere_ you heavy footed goon," Bill grunted.

"_Someone_ should go," Louis said. Bill glanced away from the scope at Louis, steely eyes calculating, and he offered the businessman a curt nod before peering through the sights. Francis muttered but didn't voice further complaint.

Zoey offered Louis a wan, grateful smile, and the two of them crept towards the jam up. Occasionally there was a sharp _crack_ and a zombie near them would stagger and fall, head exploding in a spray of red. They moved slowly, following the crying to its possible source. So far, so good – any infected that started to get riled were silenced, and the distant, harsh reports of the rifle didn't seem to bother the others much.

"There," Louis whispered, hunched close behind her. She nodded, seeing some movement on the other side of a car. Something at the base of her brain twitched – why was this woman out in the open, totally unharmed? If there were immunes, was she one step better? Immune and somehow invisible to the infected?

Zoey was around the car first, crouched behind the woman, and she clicked her flashlight on, training it on her. She was pale, her clothing in tatters, and her long hair obscured her face as she sobbed brokenly. It was so _sad_ the way she was crying, but it cut off the second the flashlight trailed up over her knees and up near her face.

"Oh god, look at her_ hands_," Louis said thinly.

A growl began to issue from the woman's throat and she looked up through her filthy, stringy hair.

_Her eyes are wrong her __**eyes **__are __**wrong**_, a voice shrieked inside her skull, rousing her to her feet and backpedaling around the car before she even realized what she was doing, _Run run run __**get away!**_

Orange embers burned where her eyes used to be, and the shriek of rage she emitted as she launched at the two of them cut her straight to the bone. The infected were fast, but she was on them in seconds, her long, claw-tipped fingers splayed out at either side of her as she sprinted. Her screaming echoed off the high walls of the expressway, and Zoey wondered with a sort of maniac calm if she was about to die. It looked like it would be quick, at least.

A sharp _crack_ brought everything into focus and the woman jerked as though she'd been struck in the shoulder. While the shrieking woman inspected the wound and howled even louder, Zoey and Louis made a break for cover. Louis was faster than she was, not as weighed down by his pack, and she wondered what the hell she'd been thinking not leaving it behind with Bill and Francis.

Louis slid over the hood of a car to get past it, glancing over his shoulder, eyes widening. He tried to turn around quickly and stumbled, his forward momentum too much for him to compensate for.

There was another shriek directly behind her and she felt as though a ton of bricks had just slammed into her back, sending her careening into a car. She couldn't breathe afterwards, slumping over, and realized that she'd just had the wind knocked out of her, and that her bag had gotten lighter. Blearily, she looked behind her, noting much of her packs contents scattered out over the road.

Oh, and the pale woman diving at her claws first, raving gibberish as they sliced the air. Zoey started to scream.

"Back off, _bitch!_" Louis shouted, his epithet followed by the loud whine of the uzi. The pale woman snarled and put up her deformed hands for protection, but if the bullets were doing anything to her, she wasn't letting it bother her much.

With the giant tank thing, Zoey had understood bullets not bothering it, but this... this was _insane_.

The woman sprang at Louis like she had rockets attached to her legs and she heard him screaming in fear instead of rage a moment later. As she started to drag herself to her feet, a stray bullet ricocheted off of the hood right near her head and she froze. This wasn't very good, was it?

She looked around instead, and noticed that it wasn't just Edwina Scissorhands who was after them. The infected were starting to fixate as well, and she struggled for her pistols as a few charged her. Zoey took one down before it got to her, but the other three mobbed her, kicking at her viciously, beating at her with their hands, snapping with their teeth, anything to keep her from defending herself. Doing her best to shove them away, she fired wildly, certain she made it through the attack alive because of sheer blind luck.

Wavering on her feet, she looked over to see how the others were doing.

There was a thicker crowd of infected mobbing the van. Louis was slumped over the hood of it, unmoving, while Francis bashed shrieking zombies off of him, shouting at Bill. She couldn't make out what over the howling. Where was the woman?

Zoey limped forward, tossing her ruined pack aside. If they made it through this, she'd go collect all her shit later. She felt like she was walking through molasses, unable to force her body to go any faster than it was now.

As she cleared the traffic jam she noted the slumped, still twitching corpse of the mad woman, most of her head sprayed out on the pavement. She wasn't invincible, at least.

"Zoey, get the lead out!" Bill hollered at her. She watched, eyes widening, as he lit a strip of cloth he'd stuffed into one of the Molotov's. Though she knew he'd wait until she was in the clear, it might be too late by the time she finally made her way to relative safety.

The veteran cut it close. She heard him shout '_Fire in the hole!_' and then glass shattered, and then heat blossomed behind her. Francis hurried forward to help her behind the van, grabbing Louis once she was propped up, standing over both of them vigilantly.

"Check on him," Francis said to Zoey, nodding at the unconscious man, "He don't look so good."

Zoey felt horrible for not even noticing how Louis was slumped and immediately began to check him over with unsteady hands. There were deep gashed in his chest, but it looked like a glancing blow. Maybe he'd passed out from shock or Lupus or _she wasn't a fucking doctor_. Her pack had saved her from losing her kidneys, that was for damn sure.

She dug into one of the packs on the ground for a first aid kit, barely registering the shotgun blasts as Francis cleared out any of the more tenacious infected coming for them. Bill, she assumed, was staring down the raging fire, waiting to see if anything came through for him to deal with.

"How's he doin'?" Francis asked after awhile, staring out at the now corpse-littered express with a grim scowl.

"The bleeding's stopped," Zoey said thinly, "But he's still out like a light."

_Your fault_, a nasty voice that seemed to be crouched next to her piped up, _Had to go and see. Knew it was wrong but had to see._

Zoey scowled and tried to stand, stumbling and sitting down hard when she lost her balance. It wasn't that she was terribly injured, but she was roughed up enough that doing anything but stationary activities caused her legs to balk in protest.

"Whoa, are you okay?" Francis asked, flicking a look at her.

"I'm fine," she said far too crisply, "Should we keep moving?"

"Yeah, and we're gonna find a car at the other end of this mess, zombies or not," Bill decided, "_Fuck_ this. We're sittin' ducks out here."

"Can you walk?" Francis asked as he bent to scoop up Louis, adjusting his grip on the other man awkwardly. Zoey couldn't help but wonder if she looked that helpless and fragile the other day, limp in the biker's arms, bleeding through her clothes. Though he hadn't bled out too much, she was worried that the gashes might get infected. They'd all lucked out so far, but immunity to the virus didn't mean they were impervious to all disease and bacteria.

Zoey pulled herself up using the van and hobbled over to Louis' bag, barely managing to heft it up and onto her back. She picked up his weapon as well, leaving her pistols holstered, and offered Francis what she hoped was a brave smile.

"I'll manage," she said, singing thinly, "'There ain't no load that I can't hold.'"

If it were a movie, Louis would have woken up then with the next verse, and they'd all cheerfully sing their montage song to the end of the expressway.

Louis remained unconcious.

The walk through the traffic jam was arduous and slow. Only she and Bill were capable of easily firing their weapons, but of the two of them, Bill was the only one who was worth a damn with a gun.

There was still the smoker that had tried to get Louis earlier, but if it hadn't attacked them during their little skirmish with the 'wiggy bitch' (as Francis has decided to call her), they felt it was a somewhat safe bet that it wouldn't be back for some time.

She couldn't decide which ones were more horrible, really, of the infected they had come across. When the four of them were together, closely knit, they seemed impervious, but the more the group fractured, the more vulnerable they became. Zoey had always been proud of her (_relative_) independence, but she didn't find herself yearning for time alone one bit. She huddled closed to Francis and the unconscious Louis, occasionally checking his breathing, terrified he was going to just slip away. Though it didn't help her mental state to think it, she was definitely blaming herself. He'd come back to get it off of her and paid the price.

Everything just felt _too heavy_. The backpack was too heavy, and so were her arms and legs, and her _guilt_ was the heaviest of all. Every step felt like a herculean effort on her part. She wasn't looking for zombies anymore - she was just trudging monotonously through traffic.

"You gotta be shittin' me," Francis said, breaking her out of her trance. Zoey was a bit startled to note that dawn was threatening. How she'd walked for that long was beyond her, but just thinking about it made her stumble once, and she caught herself on a nearby car.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I think somethin' is goin' right, actually," the biker said, pointing down the expressway.

Bill was a short ways ahead inspecting a van that looked like it'd been packed up for a trip to the lake. There was a boat hitched to the back, bike rack on top, and she couldn't even see in the rear window because it was packed with goods.

"Get Louis in here and you two help me sort out what we can toss," Bill said. Francis nodded and laid Louis out in the back, motioning for Zoey to go ahead in while he and Bill started to dismantle the bike rack and the hitch, occasionally snapping at each other. It had been a long and tiresome day.

Zoey hunkered down on the floor of the van and reached out for Louis hand, squeezing it tightly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling her eyes mist over, "I'm _so _sorry Louis, please don't die."

It would be on her if he did. The others would assure her it could've been anyone, that it wasn't her fault, but _she_ would know the truth.

Her eyes widened as Louis' hand squeezed back, albiet weakly. He shifted slightly, keeping his eyes closed.

"Be cool, girl," Louis said in a cracked voice, attempting to be soothing.

"Oh my god, Louis! Guys! Louis is okay!"

Bill and Francis both poked their heads in the van, the latter managing a humorless smile while the former grinned from ear to ear.

"Leave the leapin' on monsters t'me next time," Francis suggested, making Louis laugh weakly and then wince.

Bill slapped Francis on the shoulder and they both withdrew to finish sorting through the back.

"How long I been out?" Louis asked, not even trying to sit up.

"Most of the night," Zoey said softly, "It's almost morning."

"At least I didn't end up a movie cliché, huh?" he tried to joke. Zoey covered a half-smile with her mouth, not sure if she ought to laugh or not.

"We're all pretty even runners up," Zoey assured him, "The crazy war vet and the mouthy jerk are right up there on the hit list. And let's not even get into the female protagonist of dubious utility."

"Hey," Francis poked his head in again, slapping the top of the van to get their attention, "Me an' Bill are gonna siphon some tanks so we don't gotta stop long. You two sit tight, all right?"

"Okay," Zoey said, offering him a smile as he grabbed the handle of the sliding door. He looked a little caught off guard by it and only managed half a smile back as he slid it close with a thunk.

The sun had crept all the way over the horizon by the time Bill and Francis were satisfied with the state of the van. They'd kept in most of the camping equipment and food, but chucked the bikes and other sports items. In their place, they loaded up gas cans of various sizes. Not terribly safe, but safer than getting stranded on the highway with no gas in the middle of a throng of zombies.

Bill got into the driver's seat and started to feel around for the keys. After a few minutes of searching, he turned to Francis, who was still lurking outside of the van.

"Tell me you know how to hot wire a car, Francis," the veteran said, exhaustion starting to filter into his voice.

"Do I look like a felon t'you?" the biker grinned, moving around the front of the van and gesturing Bill out.

"Can you count the amount of years you've spent on prison on one hand?" Bill asked wryly.

"Nope," Francis smirked. Zoey watched, enthralled, as Francis hot wired the van with relative ease. Either it was easier than she thought, or he was just really good at stealing cars. Yikes.

The van grumbled to life and Francis closed his door, Bill following suit.

"Autobots, roll out," Zoey said, sitting between the driver and the passenger seat. Louis was laid out, and the back was loaded down with stuff. She didn't mind that he had passed out again and didn't laugh at her joke. That he would have if he'd been awake was enough of a comfort.

Francis adjusted the rear view mirror, slid the seat back to accommodate for his long legs, and soon they were driving. It felt so _normal _to be in a car. Maybe they'd be okay. She'd had her doubts earlier today. _Serious_ doubts.

But they were mobile, motoring along in a modern convenience, enough gasoline (she assumed) to get them at least close to their destination. After the junky safehouse, the floor of the van seemed divine. She always fell asleep on long trips, and she intended to do just that. Francis and Bill seemed to have everything under control, and she doubted they'd be driving if they thought they might nod off at the wheel.

Zoey discovered something unpleasant, however, when she tried to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see the searing embers that had belonged to the witch woman. Her twisted snarl beyond enraged, practically_ drunk _with her own hysteria, long fingers reaching, seeking...

What she'd seen in that monstrous face haunted her and she hugged her knees to her chest. The bald _inhumanity _of it was eating at her. How could a man-made virus do _that?_ What was happening seemed to be plucked straight out of a nightmare. Was it possible to engineer soul crushing horror?

They rode in relative silence. Occasionally Bill would turn up the radio and scan through the stations, but they only found the looped message from the military every time.

It was midday when Francis pulled over, making Louis stir. Though they protested, Louis insisted they help him up, and with some help he was walking around on his own.

"If we keep going like this," Bill said, leaning on the van, "We'll be there in a few days instead of a week."

"Should we just drive in shifts?" Francis wondered, covering a jaw cracking yawn with the back of a hand, "I'm pretty fucked. Need a nap."

"Unless we see someplace worth stoppin'," the veteran said, glancing at Zoey, "Have you slept at all, Zoey?"

"Not tired," she lied, sitting with her legs dangling out of the open side door. Zoey look over at a sideview mirror and grimaced at the dark circles under her eyes. It wasn't a terribly convincing lie, was it?

"I could take over for a bit," Louis offered, "I'm feelin' a lot better, and it ain't like driving is hard. If I start to feel messed up I can just pull over."

"If you're sure," Bill said, "I could use a nap, too."

They piled back into the van shortly afterward. Bill kept his spot up front but pushed his beret over his eyes, reclining his chair enough to sleep. Louis took a moment to readjust the seat, chuckling a little.

"How tall are you, Francis?" he wondered, grimacing a little as the seatbelt dug into his bandaged chest.

"Six five," he said, settling onto the bench that made up the back seat. There wasn't much room for his legs but he managed, one arm draped along the back of it. Zoey didn't have the energy to think about her awkward start with him in the morning... no... _yesterday_, now. What time was it? Early in the afternoon? Late? She had lost all concept of time at some stage... probably when she'd been trudging through traffic with her head down.

Louis had them out on the road again, and now that she was seated up on the bench instead of the floor, the temptation to sleep warred with the terrifying image of the witch lurking behind her eyelids. Zoey drowsed and jerked her head up a few times before a hand rested on top of her head. Francis had tilted his a little, a concerned expression on his face.

"Get some sleep," he told her, giving her ponytail a gentle tug, "You look like you've been tweakin' for a few days."

"I can't," she told him, voice thinner than she'd thought it would be, "I keep... I can see that _thing_ looking at me when I close my eyes."

"You're just wiggin' cause your tired," Francis said, removing his hand, "Lay down, darlin'. You're killin' me with those big sad doe eyes."

Zoey swallowed at the lump developing in her throat and looked down at her hands. They were completely filthy. Blood and grime were worked into the fine lines of her skin, her nails were chipped with god knew _what _caked under them, and her palms were raw from when she'd skinned them running from the tank.

Tears threatened again, but she adamantly refused, taking a few deep and controlling breaths. There was _nothing_ to cry about. This was her _new _family. She and her new family were still alive. They were safe and sound inside a van and in a few days they'd be at Allegheny National Forest, making their way to the evacuation zone. Then everything would be _fine_.

"Zoey?"

She looked up, meeting Louis' concerned eyes in the rear view mirror. Once he'd secured her attention, he said, "Get some sleep, okay? We're all worried about you. Except Bill, who's asleep."

It struck her as funny for some reason and she let out a rather pathetic laugh.

"C'mon," Francis urged, patting the seat, "Take a load off for awhile."

Zoey unbuckled her seatbelt, contemplating her position. Instead of curling up on the empty section of the bench, she decided on scooting closer to Francis and resting her head on his leg again, staring at the back of the driver's seat.

"Ain't _nothin'_ gonna happen to yah with us dudes lookin' out for yah," Francis said. His voice didn't lend itself to being soft, coming out as more of a low rumble, and she managed a wan smile even though he couldn't see it. It wasn't_ all _bad being the token female character, was it?

She closed her eyes and found only darkness waiting for her.

When she next awoke, she did so with a start, some deeply rooted reptilian instinct convinced that she was in terrible danger from sleeping for so long. She was surrounded by familiar voices, though. They sounded excited.

Zoey sat up, pushing up off of Francis' leg and he groaned, stretching a little.

"Good timin'," he said to her, rubbing where she'd laid her head and pointing out the windscreen with his free hand, "Check it out."

Though she was bleary, she noticed right away that they'd pulled off the expressway. The next thing she noticed was the glowing Motel Six sign with a safehouse symbol spray painted on it. If the power was on at the motel, maybe there were a bunch of people holed up inside it!

Her drowsiness fled instantly and she scooted over to the sliding door window, pressing her face up to it. There were cars parked in the lot. Honest to god _parked _cars. Maybe they'd been abandoned there, but every door had been painted a bright, cheerful red.

"Have we found _people?_" she asked breathlessly. They _weren't_ the only ones.

"Stick together anyway," Bill said as Louis pulled into the parking lot, "You remember how the _last_ person we ran into was."

"This is different, though," Zoey insisted, already grabbing the handle, eager to leap out and check out the main office.

"No, it ain't," the veteran said harshly, catching her gaze and pinning her to the bench, "Don't say anything more than you need too. We're goin' to the military evac zone. We made our way outta the city together. That's _it_. You read me?"

"Loud and clear, sir," she peeped.

"Lock the van up, Francis. Fix up that panel, too," he said. While the rest of them looked relieved, Bill seemed more tense, and she wondered what he was thinking would happen. Sure, they'd ran into a bad egg, but so much had gone wrong in the past few days, they were due for a reprieve.

Images of a hot shower dancing in her head, she followed Bill to the main office door. Though she'd thought leaving their weapons in the car would've been a nice gesture, he'd refused. They'd holstered them, at least, but Bill seemed convinced they were going to have a problem. Maybe he had a hard time switching out of urban warfare mode.

Bill knocked on the door solidly and barked out, "Four immunes!"

Zoey thought she might burst into tears when the door opened. She could see a crowd of people (_smiling and laughing and looking at them curiously, not screaming and tearing and biting_) behind the man who'd answered the door.

The man smiled pleasantly at all of them. He didn't seem paranoid or weary at all. In fact, he looked like he was on vacation.

"Didn't think we'd be getting many more," the man said kindly, standing to the side and gesturing them inside, "I'm Ernie. Come on in and meet the rest of the gang."


	6. The Motel Six

Stepping into the main office of the motel was like stepping into a dream. Everything seemed brighter, warmer, and Zoey was pretty sure she could smell pizza. There were six people gathered around in the waiting room turned common room, and all of them were regarding the four survivor's with varying expressions of curiosity and shock.

Herself and Louis had filtered to the front, both of them eager to meet these new faces, while Francis and Bill gravitated towards the back, their dour expressions and stiff postures telling a different story. She hadn't pegged Francis to be the antisocial type, especially when he'd seemed eager to see the motel before, but perhaps he'd been expecting it to be abandoned.

She was happy to ignore both of them as Ernie beckoned them further inside. Francis and Bill wordlessly barred the door once they were, still set on lurking for whatever silly reasons they had to do so.

"Is that pizza?" Zoey blurted as Ernie seemed to be winding up to say more. She couldn't help it. Though the food they had been eating didn't include dead rats and cardboard, she had given up on the idea of hot junk food entirely.

Ernie laughed and nodded, "We're microwaving a bunch right now. Should be out soon. Let me make introductions first, before you get too distracted."

She flushed slightly at his gentle ribbing and nodded. He was of an average build, dressed in business casual, and she pegged him to be in his forties. Something about him was _familiar_, and the way he kept glancing at her, he seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"You already know I'm Ernie," he said mildly, "Why don't you guys introduce yourselves first, come to think of it."

"I'm Zoey," she said. It struck her that she hadn't heard a single last name since last week, and wondered at the trend. There were so few people, she supposed, surnames weren't really necessary anymore.

"Louis," the businessman said, sticking out his hand to shake Ernie's, "Really glad we found this place. It's fu... uh, _messed _up out there."

Ernie's mild expression flickered to something tight and drawn for a moment and he shook Louis' hand, "No argument there. Who are your shy friends?"

"Francis," the biker grunted, folding his arms over his chest.

"Bill," the veteran said crisply, pulling out a cigarette. Zoey flicked a look between Ernie and Bill, and for a moment she thought Ernie might comment on Bill's smoking. Whatever he saw in the steely grey eyes changed his mind, however, and he instead gestured to the six curious faces behind him. Some of them had stood.

Zoey soaked in the introductions like a sponge. The first three he introduced were his (remaining) students from a Psychology class field trip. Jessica, Chad, and Andy all waved, and the way they were grouped up told her instantly that they'd been through some rough times together. The fact that they looked clean (_even their clothes!_) meant it must've been a little while since then, but even after the short few days, she didn't want to be farther than shouting distance from any of her group.

It was nice to know people her age had survived. Maybe it was a little childish, but she was looking forward to talking to people who'd get a majority of her pop culture references.

There was an old couple, Jillian (_"Just Jill," she'd smiled kindly_) and Greg, who'd been on their way to go hiking. Margret, sharply dressed in a business suit, was not quite so pleasant as the others. She'd been sitting a bit by herself in the corner, but she did manage a strained smile.

They met Fred last, a heavyset man wearing a tie dyed shirt. Since he entered the room carrying microwaved pizza's, Zoey got a very positive impression of him. He seemed glad to see the newcomers, insisting they sit down and grab an extra slice of pizza.

She was a bit torn when they sat, her desire to talk to the college students conflicting with what Bill had warned them of earlier.

"So, Zoey," Ernie said, wiping his hands clean of pizza grease on a paper towel, "That's a unique name. Don't hear it often. You didn't happen to go to the University did you?"

Zoey nodded slowly, squinting a little at Ernie.

"Did you have a Psychology course this semester?" he asked.

"Er," she started to flush and looked down at her shoes, stalling by cramming her face full of pizza, "Yah. I um, only went once, though, come to think of it."

"I knew you were familiar," Ernie chuckled, "I never forget a face. Glad you made it, Zoey."

It was all right. They didn't know she'd skipped _all _her other classes. As she recalled, she'd only been awake for roll call and then fallen asleep, having stayed up far too late watching a Friday the Thirteenth marathon.

"You guys all look pretty clean," Louis commented with a hint of jealousy, "Workin' water out here too?"

"Water and power," Ernie nodded, "We're taking advantage of it while it lasts. Good thing so much is automated these days, huh?"

"You get many infected out here?" Bill asked. Most of the little conversations ground to a halt at the question, uncomfortable silence taking its place.

"Not many," their unspoken leader said, "Ran into a few when we first got here. Some man was here too, I forget his name, and he cleaned them out. Painted the doors red, too, though he didn't really explain why."

"Ted," Jessica piped up, "From Chicago."

"He came all the way from _Chicago?_" Zoey said incredulously, "_How?_"

"Well, maybe he was lying," Jessica shrugged, tossing her blonde hair, "We didn't really ask. He was real quiet. Kept to himself. Told us we shouldn't stay put long."

"Haven't run inta' any of the nastier infected then, have you?" Bill asked grimly.

"They're _all _nasty, man," Fred piped up, snagging some pizza crusts that had been discarded, "Where'd you guys come in from?"

"Downtown," Bill said.

There was an almost universal grimace at that.

"It looked pretty bad downtown on T.V.," Margret said, "You poor things."

"We managed," the veteran said, "Is there somewhere we can clean up?"

"There's a room left," Ernie said, going behind the disheveled reception desk, "One-oh-six. It's a double. If... I'm sure we can shuffle things around if that doesn't work for you."

He addressed his statement at Zoey, assuming that she wasn't comfortable sharing a room with three other men. A few days ago his assumption would have been right, but now, she didn't mind it at all. There was a joke in there somewhere but she wasn't going to bother finding it.

"There's a laundry room in this office," Margret said, eying their scummy clothing, "If you bring your dirty clothes out here I'd be happy to do up a load of washing for you."

"We don't really have a change of clothes," Zoey said lamely, standing when Bill got up to take the room key.

"There are robes in the back room here," Ernie said, "I'll grab you some."

"Such _service_," Zoey joked, wincing inwardly. When a few people chuckled, though, she didn't feel so bad. Robes and hot showers? This was practically a _spa_.

Ernie returned with the robes, handing them to Louis, and the four of them headed out of the main office. Zoey was reluctant too, waving to the others as they left, but the draw of the shower was too great.

"They seem like nice folks," Louis offered quietly. The sound of the door being barred behind them told Zoey that they weren't sloppy, at least.

"Only person in there with scratches on em' was Ernie," Bill said darkly, "No telling if the others are immune. Watch yourselves."

"I didn't notice anything," Zoey frowned.

"_I_ did," Bill told her. His tone made her clam up until they reached their room. Bill unlocked it and they moved inside quickly, noting that the single window had been boarded up, and a bar for the door was provided.

"Dibs," Zoey called out, hurrying for the bathroom.

"Toss your clothes out," Louis reminded her, tossing a robe at her, "I'll take em' to that nice old lady to wash."

She did so, trying not to be terribly grossed out by the state of her clothes, and shortly afterwards she was running hot water. The small bathroom filled with steam as she stood underneath the showerhead, eyes closed, losing herself in bliss. There were even complimentary soap and shampoos set out, though she was sure they'd probably been there since everything went to crap. It was _shocking_, the amount of junk she washed out of her hair and off of her skin, but it was therapeutic as well. She scrubbed off all the bad mojo she'd been building up along with the dirt, trying to renew a more positive attitude. Yeah, getting out of the city had been bad, but look at them _now!_

After her long sleep in the car, she doubted she'd get to sleep early tonight, and she intended to go back and talk with the others for as long as possible. Bill was too paranoid. Why shouldn't they enjoy the company of these other people? They'd given them _pizza_.

Reluctantly, she twisted the water off and started to dry off, finding that it was so steamy in the shower that she still felt wet. Laughing privately, she pulled her robe on tight and exited the bathroom, laughing harder at the scene in front of her. All three of them were in robes. They were one-size fits all, and while hers practically went down to her shins, on Francis it barely reached his knees. He looked_ ridiculous_.

"What, you run out of hot water?" Francis asked. He was sitting on one of the double beds, flicking idly through fuzzy television stations or color bars.

"There's a little left," she said, sitting on the opposite bed and toweling out her hair.

"Dibs," Louis said, closing the door behind him before anyone else could speak up.

Bill was sitting near the boarded up window, smoking and silent.

The biker grumbled to himself and clicked the T.V. off, tossing the remote on the nightstand between beds. She noted that he had a tattoo on his ankle, but she couldn't quite see it, so she sat up on her knees, peering curiously.

"What?" he asked, pulling her eyes back to his face.

"What's that, on your ankle?"

"A tattoo."

"Asshole, what is it a tattoo_ of?_" she wondered, rolling her eyes. Zoey wrapped her hair up in the towel primly, deciding she'd ask one of the girls in the common room for a brush. Being clean was so novel, she couldn't even stay annoyed at Francis for very long. Maybe he'd be less of a jerk once he scrubbed a layer of dirt or two off.

Francis scratched his ankle a little self-consciously before saying, "A heart."

"A_ heart?_" she repeated incredulously, kneeling up, eyebrows crawling up her forehead, "Oh my god, _please_ tell me it says 'Mom' in it!"

"Somethin' _wrong_ with lovin' your mom!?"

Zoey fell back onto the bed and cackled, wriggling a bit, "That's so awesome! No way!"

"Ah, fuck you," Francis groused, "My mom was a fuckin' saint."

"She'd have t'be with a son like you," Bill piped up, finally joining in. Francis shot him a look but Bill only smirked at him.

"I like you guys better when you're all fucked up by zombies," he said under his breath, looking up when the bathroom door opened, "Dibs!"

"Man it feels_ good_ to be clean," Louis commented, sitting on the edge of the bed Zoey was sprawled on, "Gotta bum a shaver off the guys in the common room I think, to complete the whole 'personal hygiene' thing."

"_God_, yeah," Zoey agreed, "And a hairbrush."

"Speak for yourself on that one," Louis said, running a hand over his smooth head.

"Don't get too cozy, Zoey," Bill spoke up, "We're not stickin' around long enough to make friends."

"Maybe we could get them all to come with us," she said, trying to ignore his, "A big ol' caravan."

"That ain't an ideal situation," the older man scowled, "More people around, the bigger chance there is that someone is gonna fuck us over. We don't even know how many of them are immune except for Ernie."

Zoey scowled at him. She was clean, well fed, and looking forward to tomorrow. Why was he so deadset on being Buzz Killington?

"I think you're worrying too much," she dared, turning her nose up slightly. A beat later she had a flash of deja vu. It was always the character insisting everything was fine that got the axe next, when things inevitably went wrong. Bill must've seen something he wanted to see flash over her face, because he didn't comment, lighting up a cigarette instead.

"We got a good thing going," Louis said, expression uncertain, "It's nice here but... I feel like we can't trust it. I mean, how long have they been hangin' around here? Gotta be pure luck that they haven't run into any real trouble. That can't hold out forever."

"I guess," she said. Zoey didn't hide the defeated tone in her voice, though she was determined to at least keep a private optimism.

Francis exited the bathroom, banging the door open and startling all of them, and Zoey blinked at him. He had a towel cinched around his waist instead of his robe, leaving most of his upper body and torso exposed. There was a lot less hair on his chest than Zoey had been assuming. _Why_ had she even been thinking about that?

"Can you open the door like a normal goddamn person, Francis?" Bill snarled at him as he stood, crushing out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, "_Jesus._"

"What?" he protested, frowning as he took a seat on the bed everyone seemed to be congregating on. The coils of the mattress protested squeakily to his weight and Zoey just stared at his back, which was festooned with tattoos.

None of them were in color, she noted, and it was more of the same that had been on his arms – demons and occult symbols and the like. Despite the rather corny subject matter, they were well done. Bill closed the door to the bathroom quietly. There was no need to call dibs when you were the only one left who needed to shower.

"How long did it take you to get those done, man?" Louis wondered. Zoey realized she'd been goggling when Louis spoke and looked down at her lap, flushing, trying not to think too hard about... about _stuff_.

"Sorta built em' up over the years," Francis shrugged (she did not at _all _notice how the action made his muscles move under his skin), scratching the top of his head, "Some of em' were to cover up prison tattoos and they just sorta grew from there."

"I thought biker's put their mom hearts on their biceps," the businessman ribbed, grinning at Francis.

"I ran outta room!" Francis protested, giving Louis a friendly shove, "Gimme a break, _jeez_."

"Sorry, Ma'," Louis laughed, "I was going to put you on my arm but this demon chick looked _way_ better."

"Ah, fuck you," the biker laughed appreciatively, rubbing the back of his head. Louis' guess was possibly not too far from the truth.

Zoey kept silent, fidgeting with the loose ends of her robe. If he put a paper bag over his head and didn't talk, Francis might almost be... _no_. She wasn't going to even _think_ it. He was gross and he had grey hairs and he'd been to _prison_.

Her father would _not _approve.

"Zoey, you okay?" Louis asked, breaking into her thoughts. She looked up guiltily and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Huh? Yeah, of course," she said quickly, wishing she could wither into nothing when Francis turned around to look at her as well, "I just... I just realized I haven't shaved my legs in like a week. It's super gross."

"Even I ain't enough of an asshole to tease yah about that," he assured her, "What'd ya need from the others? I'm gonna go check on how long our clothes are gonna take."

"Hairbrush. Maybe see if there are spare toothbrushes, too? There's only one in the bathroom," Zoey said, realizing she had better add one more thing to deflect suspicion, "And a razor."

Of course she could actually _use_ a razor, she was just a little touched in the head right now.

Francis stood and pounded on the bathroom door, yelling out to Bill to find out what he needed. Bill's response was that Francis '_Get the hell away from him_', and since Louis just wanted a razor and a toothbrush, he headed for the door.

"Put on your robe, Francis," Louis laughed, "You wanna get pounced by zombies with only a towel on?"

"That thing don't fit me," the biker growled, "I'd rather fight zombies butt naked than lookin' like a dork."

"You got some weird priorities, man," he said, shaking his head.

"Who's comin' with me?" he asked, "I ain't gonna go it alone."

"I will," Louis volunteered, getting to his feet. Zoey watched them leave silently, letting out a whoosh of breath and falling back onto the bed, covering her face with her hands. God, she couldn't even _believe_ the things going through her head right now.

Francis was the sort of man that, if she saw him on the beach, she would've taken a discreet camera phone photo of and posted it on her Facebook so her and her girlfriends could all giggle stupidly about his abs. In person, however, she knew that Francis _never_ went to the beach. He picked up toothless hookers named 'Rocket' and tried to get them to blow him for a free meal instead of paying them ten dollars for the service.

Well, she didn't _know_ that, but she wouldn't be surprised to _hear _about it, so it was pretty much the same thing in her mind.

"Where'd they go?"

She peeked over her hands and then sat up, pointing at the door, "They went to grab some other stuff. Toothbrushes and hairbrushes and a razor."

Bill frowned and shook his head, tossing the spare robe he was holding on the loveseat against the wall.

"Musta washed out the rest of his brains when he showered," Bill grunted, sitting back at his post by the window and lighting another cigarette.

Zoey laughed, though she felt a bit awkward talking to Bill after his comments about not getting too cozy earlier. He was watching her as he smoked, too, and she hated how it made her feel like she'd done something horribly wrong.

"You want a bed to yourself or the loveseat?" Bill asked her. She didn't answer right away, attempting to discern what he was _really _asking, but his impassive expression left her with nothing.

"Bed would be better," she said, "But um, the loveseat would be okay. I can fit on it better than any of you guys."

He nodded and took a long, luxurious drag from his cigarette, flicking ashes into the tray as he exhaled through his nose.

"How old are you, Zoey?" he asked her.

"It's impolite to ask a woman her age," she tried to joke, not sure she really liked where he was steering the conversation. When he only looked at her, one eyebrow slightly quirked, she relented, "Nineteen."

He stared at her.

"Eighteen," she said, flustered, not even sure _why_ she'd lied, "Eighteen this year, like a few months ago. Why?"

"You got a good head on your shoulders for bein' eighteen, kid," Bill said quietly, offering her the first actual smile she'd ever seen on his face. Grins didn't count, in her opinion – this was an honest-to-god smile, "I've seen grown men break down going through less than you have."

"Oh," Zoey said, embarrassed again, "Thanks, Bill. I... I've been trying to not be a pain in the ass."

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head, and waved a hand to dispel some of the smoke hanging around his head. Zoey felt a bit silly for expecting him to say something _else_, and more than a bit annoyed at herself for letting _someone_ else who would go _unnamed_ get to her so much.

Bill opened his mouth to say something more, a wry smile on his face, but the door banged open and Francis and Louis returned.

"Laundry's dryin'," Francis announced, "But we go other goodies."

Zoey scooted for the bathroom again once she'd gotten a toothbrush and a hairbrush, and eyeballed Louis as he came in behind her.

"Sorry Zoey but my mouth feels like I ate roadkill," he said, "Do you mind?"

"It's fine," she said, scooting over to make room for him. She squeezed toothpaste out onto her new brush and went to town, looking sideways with both eyebrows raised as Francis squeezed in behind them.

"I'm gettin' in on this," he grinned, standing behind the two of them and just crouching down a little so he could see himself in the mirror, "Cozy bondin' time."

"We could be a sitcom," Louis chuckled, "Three Dudes and a Lady."

"Sounds like a porno I've seen before," Francis commented, spraying some toothpaste on the mirror as he spoke.

"_Gross_, Francis," Zoey protested, wiping the mirror with the sleeve of her robe.

He put a hand on both of their shoulders and leaned between them to spit in the sink, wiping a hand over the back of his mouth afterwards, and Zoey snorted as he squeezed out. Maybe he was built like a brick shithouse but that was his _only _attractive quality. She had higher standards than _that_.

Convinced she'd finally reached the upper hand with herself, she waited until Bill finished with his teeth and closed the door to shave. It was strange how easy it was to forget how screwed up everything was when she was able to go through familiar motions. Showering, brushing her teeth, shaving her legs, thinking about Facebook.

_**Zoey **__is in the middle of the zombie apocalypse!_, she thought dryly. It would be hard to leave this place behind. Somehow she doubted a military base would be_ half_ as comfortable as this.

By the time she got out, Louis was pointing to his watch, certain that their clothes ought to be done drying by now. They decided to go as a group, and Zoey hardly even thought about how really vulnerable this motel was. Sure, there were barricades on the door, but the walls were thin and really, they weren't even close to supplies. If they had cars, she assumed they were just living off of their combined supplies they'd had on them since they'd arrived. It would certainly explain why only Ernie had had a run in with the infected.

They were greeted warmly back in the common room, though the crowd had thinned somewhat. Margret and the old couple had gone, though Jillian (_just Jill_) had left behind their clothes in a laundry basket, neatly folded. She'd gone so far as to clean off their shoes, and Francis announced he was going to 'hug the crap out of that old lady' for cleaning off his vest.

"We got hotpockets for breakfast," Fred told them as Louis picked up the laundry basket, "If you wake up early they're just in the kitchen area around back."

He pointed through a door behind him.

"Thanks," Zoey smiled. Hot dinner and then a hot breakfast? This was end-of-the-world Shangri-La!

"Going to bed already?" one of the boys (Chad, with dark hair) asked her, obviously hinting that she ought to stay awake.

"Um," she glanced at Bill on instinct, and perhaps in spite of his misgivings, he nodded, "Nah, not yet. I'm gonna change and come back."

"Awesome," Jessica said, "We gotta hear about downtown."

"You guys got a weird idea of entertainment," Ernie said, "I'm heading out too. Don't stay up too late."

They headed out of the main office in a pack, Ernie breaking off to his room, and Zoey changed quickly. The clothes were still slightly warm from the dryer, and it was all kinds of marvelous to be wearing clean underwear.

She practically bounced out of the bathroom once she'd changed, causing all three men to look up at her. Louis was in his dress shirt and pants, Bill was just in his t-shirt and boxers, and Francis had only bothered with his jeans.

"Don't stay out too late, young lady," Bill warned her, winking, "Need an escort?"

"I'll go," Francis volunteered rather quickly. She shot him a look, but not for long. Was he going to put a damn _shirt_ on at some point?

He grabbed his shotgun on the way out this time, and she paused in the doorway, raising her eyebrows at him.

"What's that for?" she asked.

"Well if I gotta walk back by myself I ain't goin' unarmed," he said. Zoey thought he might be fishing for her to invite him to stay, but decided that was insane. Why would he want to hang out with a bunch of teenagers?

His reason was sincere enough, she decided, and they walked in silence to the main office.

"Just call the room when you wanna come back," Francis said.

"Thanks, Francis."

He grunted a reply and she slipped into the main office eagerly, coming to sit with the others.

"Oh, isn't Francis staying?" Fred asked, watching the biker skulk off instead of coming in after her, "I wanted to ask him about his tats."

"They need some dude time or something," Zoey said, waving a hand dismissively. She curled her legs up underneath her on her seat and grinned, "You guys have no_ idea_ how great it is to find living breathing people. I was starting to think we were the only people left on earth, you know?"

"That's messed up," Andy said. He had red hair and glasses, and seemed to be the shyest of the three.

"So where were you all semester?" Ernie asked.

Zoey flushed, "Skipping class, but I guess that's not a big surprise to you, huh?"

"Where'd you meet those guys?" Jessica asked, peering at the office door as though she might be able to see them somehow.

"Bill and Francis saved me from my dorm," she said, "Louis we found later in a safehouse."

The questions started to pour out of all of them, and instead of warming up to them, Zoey felt herself withdraw. It confused her a little, but when she realized _why_ she was doing it, she started to feel increasingly worse.

They had barely ran into any infected. There was a good chance none of them were immune, and if they were, they might just slow them all down. It was a horrible thing to think about another human being. She'd put money on Bill and Francis regretting saving her at first. That she'd proved herself to them told her that she ought to give other's that same chance, but she couldn't find it in her to do it.

None of them had guns - some other guy, who'd left awhile ago, had dealt with the infected in the motel for them. They had painted a sign on the roof and were going to wait for the military to fly over and extract them instead of making their way to the evacuation zone. They urged her to convince the other three to do the same, and she lied, assuring them she'd bring it up.

She was angry at herself for thinking that she could just pretend everything was normal for_ one_ evening. She was angry that she _couldn't_ pretend everything was normal for one evening. This wasn't _fair._ It made her want to scream and cry and stamp her feet, hold her breath and shout into a pillow – _anything _to vent her frustration.

Maybe these people would luck out. The military would extract them, and they'd all meet up at whatever compound the military was bringing survivors.

She'd hate a zombie movie with that kind of ending, personally.

Zoey didn't let any of her feelings to the surface, going into gossip autopilot instead. If she went back to the room now, she'd lose it in front of the others, and she'd done that enough already.

They were talking about what T.V. shows they missed the most when the power went out. Zoey's hands flew to her sides to grab her pistols, and her heart skipped a beat when she realized they were back in the room. She hadn't even brought a flashlight with her. Stupid. _Stupid!_

"It'll come back on," Ernie said, though he didn't sound too convinced, "It's flickered before."

"It's off," Zoey said, not liking the harsh edge in her own voice. She jumped when someone banged on the office door and she got up to get it, not surprised to find Francis standing there.

"We're goin'," he said, thrusting her holster's at her, "C'mon."

"Right... right _now?_" she stammered, taking them and strapping them on.

"Yup, right now," he said, "Shit's goin' down."

"What do you mean?" Ernie asked, coming to stand behind Zoey, "You... how bad do you think it is?"

"Ain't worth stickin' around to find out," Francis said, grim. Zoey could see flashlights bobbing around in the background behind him as Louis and Bill headed for the van.

"Shouldn't we stay and-"

"Zoey, we're _goin'_," the biker cut her off harshly, "You guys should go, too. There're light's still on down the street so somethin'_ ain't _right."

"Oh my god!" Jessica exclaimed in the background, "Are we gonna die!?"

Zoey cringed and Francis pressed his lips into a thin line, hard brown eyes saying everything. She stepped out of the office, swallowing hard, wondering if she was going to be able to keep it together much longer.

"Thanks for the hospitality, man," the biker said, sticking out his hand. Ernie shook it, "I'd get goin' if I were you. Got flashlights?"

"In my room," Ernie said quietly, "I'll see what the others want to do. We've stuck together this long."

"Good luck," he said, resting a hand on Zoey's shoulder a moment to get her moving. She shuffled after him blearily, not daring to look backwards. They were going to stay. They were going to try and stick out whatever had killed the power, try and hold out until morning.

"It isn't right," she whispered, "We should stay here and help them. We could at_ least _leave them a gun."

"It's shitty, but it's us or them," Francis said darkly.

"Jesus, they're going to get _slaughtered_."

"Don't think about it."

"I just spent the past few hours talking to them!" she said shrilly even as she got into the back of the van. Bill started it up before Francis even closed the slider.

When no one responded to her comment, she started to feel herself unravel. None of them were really _this_ cold, were they!? They'd been_ fed_ by those people. The old woman had done their laundry for them! She'd borrowed Jessica's hairbrush!

"Those people are going to fucking _die_," Zoey yelled as Bill pulled out of the parking lot, "Maybe it's just a horde of infected! One pipebomb is all it'd take and they'd be fine."

"Let it go, Zoey," Bill said coolly. Louis refused to look at her, sinking a bit lower in his chair. He didn't feel guilty enough to implore Bill to turn around, though.

"We're basically _murdering_ those people!" she insisted.

"They murdered _themselves_ by staying in a goddamn motel all this time," Bill snapped at her, though he didn't take his eyes off the road, "They ain't made a' the right stuff, kid. Some people are, and some people ain't."

"This is _inhuman!_"

"Survival is about as human as it _gets_," Bill said. There wasn't an ounce of sympathy in his voice, and she wondered if she'd imagined his kind smile earlier in the evening.

"It isn't _fair_," she said, not caring how her voice was breaking, or that her eyes were brimming with tears. Zoey was assuming her parents were dead based on phone calls that wouldn't go through. She'd beaten her roommate to death. Not five feet from her a crazy man had been murdered, and had she not been blocked by shelves, she would have had a hand in it.

And now she was, despite her vocal protests, going along with abandoning a group of people who had been nothing but kind to them.

Nobody cared to comment on her statement of fairness and she grit her teeth, wishing she could just... just _hit_ something. She'd always commented oh-so-cheekily on the world being grey, not black and white, but when had she _ever_ been in a morally grey situation? This was her first, and she knew she was handling it badly.

"You're gonna be alive in the morning," Bill said to break the silence, voice like cold iron, "Don't let makin' the right decision eat you up inside, kid. We're gonna make it."

"It doesn't_ feel_ like the right decision," she said thickly, wiping her nose. He'd warned her at first, hadn't he? Not to go chatting them up. She understood why, _now_, but the realization didn't make it any better. Though she tried to focus all her anger on Bill for apparently changing his mind and letting her go gossip with the others, she supposed that was still on her. She was the _novelty_, after all. He'd put his own reservations aside, perhaps hoping it would be something cheerful for her in the wake of her parents death.

"You watched too much damn T.V. if you think doin' the right thing feels good," the veteran said.

"Lay offa her a little, Bill, Jesus," Francis piped up.

"Shut up, Francis," Bill suggested.

"Or what? You'll turn this car around?"

"_Francis_," he said in warning, glaring at the biker via the rear view mirror.

"Maybe they'll be tellin' jokes about us in the morning," Louis said, finally turning around, trying to play peacemaker, "How we ran off like scared rabbits the second the lights went out."

Bill snorted and Francis kicked the back of his seat.

"God_dammit_, Francis!"

"Be cool, man," Louis said, making a placating gesture at Francis, "He's drivin'."

"I'll be cool when he's done pretending we're in 'nam!"

"Watch it, boy," Bill snarled, actually turning around in his seat a little to glare at the biker.

"Or _what_, old man?" Francis said combatively.

"We're all a little freaked," Louis continued, his brow creasing, "Let's just all chill out."

"Keep yer Dr. Phil bullcrap to yourself, Louis," the biker sneered.

"Hey, man, don't be like that-"

"Please, _stop_," Zoey said weakly, not even sure they'd hear her quavering, timid voice.

Everyone fell silent, but the tension was still there, making the air feel heavy and unbreathable. Zoey wondered if _she_ was the reason they all kept on fighting, somehow. Maybe she should have stayed behind, where she belonged. Bill was _wrong_ about her. She was falling apart at the seams.

"Someone came back for me, in 'nam," Bill said tightly, squeezing the steering wheel, "Had my knee practically blown off. Thought I was a goner for sure. One of the men came back for me. Wrapped up my knee, hauled me to my feet, and helped me hobble back t'base. Son of a bitch got shot in the back of the head by a sniper when we'd nearly made it back. He'd of been_ fine_ if he'd just stayed in the goddamn base and left me out in the jungle. Gone back to his wife and his new baby. But the stupid bastard had to come back for me. Couldn't leave a man behind."

Nobody said a word, and Bill shakily lit a cigarette.

"Didn't do a goddamn thing my life, either," he said bitterly, "He wasted his so I could work dead end jobs and live by myself in a shithole apartment."

Zoey bit her lip and hugged herself a little. Rather selfishly, she tried to resist understanding why Bill was the way he was, but it was impossible to ignore. He was only trying to protect them,_ all_ of them.

She swallowed hard.

"I didn't go to any of my classes this semester," she shared, "I went to the first day and that was it. I just stayed in my dorm room watching horror movies and playing video games. It was my first semester at college, my first time living away from my parents, and I failed out."

It didn't compare at all to Bill's story, but at least he wouldn't be alone in sharing something he'd probably rather not have.

"I've been livin' with my mom for the past two years," Francis offered quietly. Zoey turned her head to look at him, "She broke her hip an' all that but I couldn't really afford some fancy ass old folks home, so I moved in t'take care of her. I went out... when I saw that shit was goin' down on the news, I went out t'get some food an' shit, to just hold out with her. She begged me not t'go, but fuck, starvin' t'death ain't no better, right?"

He ran a hand over his head, staring at the roof of the van.

"Came back an' hour later an' the front door t'the complex was broken in," he said, voice steady but emotionless, "Bad enough I had to shoot people I knew at the fuckin' store, right? I get up t' our place an' the door is open. My _fuckin'_ landlord is in there, standin' over her like a fuckin' _vulture_. She was still twitchin', but he came at me like... you know how they are. Then _she_..."

Francis swallowed hard and cleared his throat, finishing with a gruff and dismissive, "Anyway."

"_Shit_," was all Louis said. Nobody saw fit to argue, and nobody saw fit to speak afterwards, either.

Though she wasn't sure _why_, she felt marginally better. Generic apologies didn't seem like enough for either Francis or Bill. She and Louis had gotten off relatively easy in the trauma department, hadn't they? The gut-spilling had been therapeutic, and she had a new appreciation for their motley crew.

Louis had sunk down in his seat, lost in thought, while Bill stared straight ahead, concentrating doubly hard on the road. Francis was still staring up at the ceiling, one hand resting on his forehead.

What part of the movie was this? It had to be nearing the end. Maybe this was the prelude to a big climax, but if they'd all just shared personal information, that meant they would all end up dead. Those with the saddest stories would go first. Just the _idea_ of any of them being killed made iron bands tighten around her heart. What would she do if she lost even _one_ of them? It was bizarre how quickly she'd endeared herself to them, made them central figures in her life. She'd been rather aloof most of her life previously, selective about who she hung out with. Her criteria seemed so arbitrary and _childish_ now. Had she _really_ spent most of her life like that? It seemed like a long time ago.

The dark pall that had seeped into the van seemed wrong to her. Given, things were relatively gloomy at the moment There was a great possibility that the people back at the motel were being torn to bits while they drove, but they'd chosen to stay behind when someone obviously more canny than them had moved on. And they continued to stay when more hardened survivors had decided to bolt as well.

"I'm gonna say the first nice thing about all of you that comes to mind," she announced, not caring at _all_ how cheesy it was to say something like that out loud. Maybe they'd roll their eyes or smirk, but it was better than moping.

"You wiggin' out?" Francis asked, looking at her like she'd lost her mind.

"No," she said, "It's _way_ too depressing in here. Bill!"

"You don't gotta say nothin', Zoey," Bill protested.

"Bill, you are the most badass man eligible for a senior discount I have ever met," she said. Francis snorted and Louis suppressed a laugh, shoulders shaking, while Bill just raised an eyebrow at her in the rear view mirror.

Not pausing for a response, she moved on, proud of how the mood seemed to already be lightening, "Louis."

"Bring it," he grinned at her.

"You are probably the last nice person left alive on the _planet_," she said, "If anyone makes it to the end credits, it'll be you."

"I'll stare meaningfully off into the sunset for you guys if I am," Louis laughed, shaking his head, "You gotta be the funniest person left alive on the planet, Zoey."

"Wait your turn," she said cheekily, turning to Francis. He looked back at her with a dubious expression, and before she could stop herself, she came out with, "Francis, you have the most rockin' abs I have _ever seen_."

Francis blinked at her, shocked, and started to howl with laughter as she turned red. Thankfully, it was too dark in the car to make out much color. Oh _god_, why had she said that _out loud?_

"Jesus _Christ_ don't tell him _that_," Bill said, sounding horrified, "He's gonna start walkin' around with his shirt off."

"Hey, we're sayin' _nice_ stuff!" Francis grinned broadly, "My turn!"

"No way man, I already started," Louis protested, "Bill, you're the only dude I know who can wear a beret and not look pretentious. Francis... you smell a _lot _better now."

"You go, Bill," she urged, desperate to avoid hearing whatever horrible perversion Francis was thinking up to say about her.

"All I gotta say is that I'm glad you all can boost your own morale," the veteran said. There was a twinge of good humor in his voice that made her smile.

"Cop out," Francis said, though he continued by saying, "Bill, you are the baddest motherfucker I ever met. Louis, it's the end of the fuckin' world and you're _still_ rollin' with a double windsor knot for your tie. _Hardcore_. Zoey..."

"Shut your mouth now, Francis," Bill suggested. Louis was too busy laughing about the tie crack to say much of anything.

"Zoey," he continued, though his expression faltered, "You, uh..."

"If can say something that _isn't_ creepy, Francis, I'll hug you," Zoey challenged. She couldn't help but smirk at the determined expression on his face. Zoey wasn't worried.

"You make me wish I hadn't dropped outta high school," he said, somewhere between smug and embarrassed by the admission. She gaped at him. That... that hadn't even been a _little_ creepy!

"_Why?_" she asked.

"I'll pass on the hug if I don't gotta explain that," he grunted.

"_I'll _give you a hug if you do," Louis said, grinning at the biker.

"Fuck you."

Zoey sat back in her seat and smiled to herself. _This_ was a bit more like it. Maybe they were in a terrible zombie movie with a happy ending after all.

Maybe she wouldn't watch it, but starring in a more legitimate zombie movie was appealing to her less and less. There was going to be some trouble ahead, but they just might reach their goal. No twist ending, no horrible character deaths, just a straight up happy ending. _No awesome dudes were harmed in the making of this film_ would be the last line of the credit scroll.

She hoped that turned out to be the case.

* * *

_**A.N.:** Holy Dammit Christmas. All this positive feedback is **amazing!** I'm so glad you all are liking this story (broken record, I know!) - let it be known that all the reviews/favs/alerts are **very **encouraging. I have been spending a lot more time on this story than I'd originally planned as a result. Normally I don't like to clog up my chapters with lengthy notes, but Survivor #234, I have no other means to answer your question! Allegheny County, where Blood Harvest takes place (and what this story is loosely based on), is also where the city of Pittsburgh is located. I lived in downtown Pittsburgh for a few years, so I thought it would be useful to use the knowledge (albiet innaccurately, haha) in the story. Thank you again to **everyone** who's been following this story and leaving a review with every new chapter - again, it's extremely encouraging and gives me a chronic case of the smiles. See you next chapter!  
_


	7. The Rest Stop

Zoey didn't know how long they spent in the van, but the fact that they weren't ready to tear each others heads off by the second day was encouraging. All of them still spared some thought for the people back at the Motel Six, gazing vacantly out the window at abandoned cars and passing scenery. Nobody was game to bring it up again, and she wondered if it was something that would remain tabled forever.

She frowned and tapped her feet against the window of the sliding door. It was Louis' turn to drive (she'd just had hers) and_ she _was supposed to be sleeping, but she just couldn't turn off her brain. She glanced up at Francis, who'd had his turn before her. Zoey was using his leg as a pillow again, legs stretched out, fingers laced together over her stomach.

According to Bill, if they kept up their pace, they'd find the junction for highway sixty-two by nightfall. They'd made good time, though they'd lost some to refueling and stopping to siphon off more gas tanks. Those had been nervy stops, the oppressive silence making every second _not_ moving a potential firefight.

So far, so good.

"Aren't you supposed to be asleep?" Louis said softly, making her turn her head to look at the rear-view mirror.

"Yeah," she said, "Can't though."

"Something bothering you?" he wondered. Zoey wasn't sure what it was that made Louis such an attentive, _pleasant_ person, but she hoped he never lost that quality.

"What are we going to do if this evacuation thing doesn't pan out?" she mused out loud, keeping her voice low out of courtesy to the others, "And what if... what if it _does_, but it turns out the military is mostly hosed anyway?"

"We'll figure something out," Louis said with confidence, "We made it_ this_ far, didn't we?"

"Yeah," Zoey murmured, "What do you think we'll_ do_ if we're at some military base?"

"Help em' out, I guess," he shrugged, slowing down to maneuver around some overturned cars, "Depends on how things are."

"There are so many unknowns," she sighed, lifting her hands to rub her face.

"It's always been that way," Louis said, "You probably just didn't notice until now."

"Louis?" she asked, having a thought. When he '_Hmm'd?_' in reply, she continued, "Last night, when everyone was spilling their guts, you didn't say anything."

He was silent on that and she finally sat up, tilting her head at him and watching his expression.

"Well, you guys have all been through some pretty rough stuff," he shrugged, "My problems are pretty lame by comparison."

"I talked about being a college drop out," she pointed out, "Doesn't really compare to Bill or Francis."

"Yeah, but the thing with your parents..."

"Spill."

Louis sighed wearily, "My fiancée left me for some guy she met on the internet."

"Ouch," Zoey said, flinching and making a face, "Recently?"

"A month ago," he said, "I mean, it wasn't all bad. It made me realize that I'm a walking doormat most of the time, even at work. Started jogging more. Spent the money I'd been savin' for the wedding on private lessons at the firing range."

"You can find the silver lining on any cloud, can't you Louis?" Zoey said, "You're lucky."

"Some people find it pretty annoying," he said, glancing back at her, "Glad you don't, though. Get some sleep, Zoey. You're up again in a few."

"I'll try," she assured him, laying back down. The thought that she might make herself more comfortable by using _more_ than Francis' leg crossed her mind, but she didn't let it go much farther than that, snatching the idea and stuffing it under a rock. It went right in there next to rockin' abs and her paper bag theory.

She stared at the ceiling of the van, restless. Technically, she was supposed to sleep through Francis' shift as well as Louis', but she hadn't managed it since they started driving again. He was too good a prop for her to bother trying to sleep when they weren't both in the back.

Instead, she'd move up to the front passenger's seat, feet propped up on the dash while he drove. Though they kept the windows rolled up at all times, he would wedge his arm in the window, fingertips brushing the ceiling of the van, fulfilling some vestigial need to dangle his arm outside the van.

Zoey watched him as he slept, mind whirring. Her paper bag theory seemed unfair the longer she thought about it. It wasn't that he was horribly deformed or anything, he just... he wasn't really handsome in a _conventional _way. All right, he wasn't handsome at _all_, but he had a certain scruffy charm that had managed to grow on her.

The thought was at once wholly unwelcome and long overdue. Being flirtatious at parties was one thing. Actual _companionship_ was something she hadn't really had since high school. Amanda had been a good friend, but not_ that_ kind of friend.

God, why was she even_ thinking_ about this? About _him?_ Though she wanted to accuse it of coming out of nowhere, it had been brewing since he'd scooped her up after the smoker had nearly killed her. Her usual type was, if she was totally honest with herself, shy nerds who could keep up with her pop culture references and got excited when she mentioned wanting to attend a LAN party. She was usually the aggressor, too, though she hadn't gone very far in that regard. Like most girls (_women_, _damn it_) her age, she had a certain set idea of what her first time would be like, and none of the boys she'd dated had really fit the bill.

She shifted a little, crossing her ankles to get more comfortable, marveling at Francis' ability to sleep through anything. He was broad, muscular, and probably didn't know what Google was (or how to spell it). Maybe it was some sort of Stockholm syndrome thing, but it wasn't like he was the _only_ man around. Louis was attractive and fit, but she didn't spend her idle time wondering if he picked on her because he liked her, or because she was just the easiest target.

Louis didn't offer her his leg to sleep on.

_Oh hell_, she thought irritably, _Stop it_.

Maybe he had his moments, but Francis _wasn't_ that kind of guy. Well _maybe_, but _she_ wasn't going to be the one who found out. It was the end of the damn world and she was wasting a lot of energy by thinking about something pointless and stupid. This was the sort of shit that ruined movies. Why couldn't they just be good friends? Senseless pairing off just because the situation was rough was_ lame_. Zoey had sworn off being lame a few days ago and she _wasn't_ going to go back on her word.

Yeah, Francis was nice to her. His motives were transparent at best – she was an attractive teenage girl. Of _course_ he was nice. Except the times when he wasn't, but... _argh!_

Zoey turned onto her side, facing front, scowling. By the time it was Bill's turn to drive, she was still awake, and the veteran noticed when Louis pulled over for the shift change.

"Shouldn't you be sleepin'?" he asked.

"Aw man, you still awake?" Louis said. They were both using their normal speaking voices, as the biker was dead to the world.

"I can't sleep," she protested. Zoey didn't bother trying to eliminate the sulky tone from her voice.

"Better start soon," Bill commented, putting the van into drive, "You're up after Francis."

She muttered under her breath and closed her eyes, though she knew no sleep was forthcoming. Louis and Bill chatted to each other quietly, mostly about what the younger man had noticed during his turn. After a long stretch of very few cars, they were starting to run into more the closer they got to the junction. It made sense, Bill said, because this was one of the larger extraction zones in the area. A lot of people would have made a run for it.

Louis had been asleep for a bit when Bill spoke up.

"What's eatin' at you kid?" he asked her. She was startled that he'd addressed her and opened her eyes, though she didn't sit up just yet.

"Just can't sleep," she told him, speaking softly.

"That ain't what I asked."

Even though he could probably only make out a bit of her via the rear view mirror, she could imagine his eyes boring into her, seeing the truth and waiting for her to fess up.

Zoey had very nearly cracked when it was Bill who spoke again in her stead.

"Men like Francis an' myself ain't '_fixer uppers_' kid," he said. She sat up, eyes wide. Once he made eye contact with her for a brief moment via the mirror, he continued, "Our bad habits and character flaws 'er set in stone. How we are _now_ is how we'll _be _until they day we die."

Embarrassed, she looked down at her shoes, not even sure what to say. Her first instinct was to protest against the topic, of course, but she wouldn't insult his intelligence by even bothering with that.

"He _ain't_ a bad guy," Bill said in a slightly gentler tone, "But you two aren't even from the same _planet_, kid. Hell, not even the same _galaxy_. Things're complicated enough. You copy?"

"Copy that, gold leader," Zoey sighed wearily, slouching down against the bench. Well,_ now_ she felt pretty tired, all things considered.

"Gold leader? You makin' a crack at how old I am? Like a golden oldie?"

"Huh? Oh, no, no," she protested quickly, "It's from Star Wars."

Bill just shook his head and said no more, leaving her to her thoughts again. Her thoughts mutinously strayed to what she'd been thinking about the entire car ride and she resisted the urge to punch herself in the head.

She'd deal with it later. With her brain in a complete jumble, she laid her head down on Francis' thigh and drifted off into a restless sleep. By the time she'd finally shut everything out, someone was gently shaking her shoulder and she made a cranky noise.

"C'mon, Zoey, up and at 'em," Francis said, "It's my turn."

She sat up groggily and began to shuffle towards the sliding door, automatically assuming she'd be sitting up front with him. Unlike their last rotation, however, she was now hyper aware of how he rested a hand on her shoulder as he pulled the sliding door open from behind her. How he watched her sideways, not putting the van into drive until her seatbelt was fastened.

How he completely _avoided_ looking at her as he drove.

Zoey did the same, resting her forehead on the passenger side window, staring out at the scenery passing them by. It was more farmland than cities and townships now, and she wondered how long until they were enveloped by forest.

They both saw the rest stop sign with a safehouse symbol spray painted on it at the same time, sharing a look before Zoey turned around in her seat to rouse Bill and Louis. Francis rolled to a stop at the exit itself while Bill crouched between their seats, scowling ahead at the ill-lit rest area. The only light on was a flood that had been knocked on its side, aimed at a cheerful red door.

"Sixty two ain't far from here," Bill guessed, "If we keep goin' we'll make it."

"Maybe getting there while the sun is out would be better," Louis suggested, "No nasty surprises."

"I don't like it," the veteran scowled, drumming his fingers nervously on Francis' seat. He hadn't smoked since they'd piled into the van, not even lighting up during their shift changes.

"Can't hurt t'drive down and check it out," Francis said, looking between Bill and the rest area.

"Chicago Ted wouldn't steer us wrong," Zoey quipped, making Louis chuckle quietly, "Though I guess anyone who came after him might've screwed something up."

"Drive down," Bill decided, "Get ready to drive the hell outta here if things go to shit."

"Ten-four," Francis said. He put the van into drive and steered it cautiously down the exit ramp. All four of them were glued to the windows, but the parking lot was pitch black, the tipped floodlight aimed at the safehouse door and nothing else . A sweep from the van's headlights revealed a few abandoned cars and an overturned RV, but no infected. None that were still walking, anyway.

Just outside of the safehouse door were shot-up corpses, limbs twisted at awkward angles, blackish blood congealed around their wounds and underneath them.

"I got a_ bad_ feelin' about this," Bill said as Francis came to a stop just in front of it, headlight's aimed at the door.

"You wanna bail?"

Bill was silent, and Zoey noticed how he fidgeted with his front pocket, making his cigarette packet crinkle.

"Gettin' to the sixty two durin' the day is a good idea," he said, continuing to frown, "And I could use a fuckin' smoke. But this _don't_ sit right with me."

"Make a decision," Francis said, twisting his hands impatiently on the steering wheel and making his leather gloves creak, "I'm tired a' just _sittin'_ here."

"Might as well look since we're here," Bill said, "Leave the van runnin'."

There was a flurry of movement as they strapped on their guns and hefted their packs. Zoey didn't have one, the contents of her pack split between the three of them, and it was something she already decided she wouldn't feel bad about. The three of them could still run wearing ammo laden backpacks – she had proven that she couldn't.

"Ugh," Francis said as they stepped over the scattered bodies, "Been here awhile."

"The door is open," Louis said.

Zoey swallowed and adjusted her grip on her pistols, mouth going dry. This wasn't like the fancy rest stops on the turnpike. The architecture was rustic and blocky, the building made of brick, and there would be no McDonald's or Starbuck's inside. A sign around the side marked where the restrooms were, and she assumed the front area was more of a convenience store than anything else, a place to stock up on munchies and pay for a tank top off before getting to the campgrounds.

Bill crouched as he approached the safehouse door and touched it lightly with his fingertips, making it swing inwards with an ominous groan. As the headlights filled the small area, they reflected back one set of dead white eyes, and the infected hissed viciously at them.

The veteran fired twice, hitting it first in the chest, then in the head, and it slumped over with a strangled cry. He paused in the doorway for a few minutes, and when nothing happened, he moved inside, motioning for Zoey to join him and for Francis and Louis to stay outside.

She swallowed and prowled in after him, her stomach turning a bit at the scene inside. There was a lot of blood sprayed on the walls and counter, not counting what was seeping out of the infected Bill shot, but the bodies weren't visible.

"Where are the other bodies?" Zoey wondered, not looking at the infected as Bill searched its body, "Ugh, don't_ touch_ it."

He ignored her and pulled a wallet out of its back pocket and she furrowed her brow at him, putting one arm over her nose and mouth. The smell was getting to her and it _wasn't _wafting in from outside. Somewhere, inside, there were more rotting corpses.

"Zoey, go outside," Bill said, flipping the wallet shut.

"What-"

"Go," he told her, "Tell Francis to get in here."

"Why?" Zoey demanded, voice muffled by her arm.

"_Don't _argue with me, Zoey," Bill said, voice hard, "Get the hell outta here."

"I can handle-"

"I said get **out**."

She gaped a moment, eyes wide as he raised his voice at her, and quickly retreated from the safehouse. Louis and Francis, looking out into the darkness, both glanced back at her.

"Bill wants you," Zoey muttered at Francis, standing next to him. He shot her a questioning look and she only shrugged, taking her arm away from her face. The smell wasn't as bad with the slight breeze keeping it at bay.

"What's goin' on?" Louis asked her quietly.

"I don't know," she scowled, "Bill about threw me out of there. I don't know _what_ his problem is. Jonesing for cigarettes or something."

Louis shrugged, favoring the safehouse with a nervous look before resuming his watch out into the darkness.

She scuffed a shoe against the pavement, forcing herself not to creep back to the safehouse door and peer in at what they were doing. Bill had his reasons, and acting like a defiant teenager didn't help anyone.

When they finally came out, Francis had something in his arms that was wrapped up in a blanket. He didn't look at her and quickly went around the side of the rest stop, followed by Bill, who was dragging something more person-sized out. Not the zombie he'd shot, but a woman wearing a track suit.

Things clicked a moment later and she gasped quietly, the probable situation playing over in her mind. They had seen the safehouse door, same as them, and pulled into the parking lot. Whatever infected might have been there were out of sight, or perhaps they hadn't been careful, and they'd been attacked. The husband had fended them off while his wife and child hurried inside, but he'd gotten hit. They'd gone to hide further back, perhaps, or they were right behind him, and he'd turned on them, figuratively and literally.

What chance would they have had against even one infected?

Francis came back around the building wiping his hands on his pants with a very grim expression, not looking at anyone.

"Jesus," Zoey breathed. He couldn't help but glance at her, to make sure she wasn't pointing at anything out of place, and she saw the haunted look in his eyes before he looked away again.

Bill caught her eye next and she only nodded at him in understanding. No, she probably _wouldn't_ have handled seeing that very well.

"It's a goddamn mess in there," Bill said, brushing his own hands off, "But it'll do until dawn."

Francis had already gone inside to get the other body, tossing it to the side irreverently, and Louis helped him set the floodlight upright, casting long shadows across the parking lot as well as the door in its new position.

After getting the sleeping bags out of the back of the van, they turned the headlights off and barricaded themselves inside. The only light in the small room was a single yellow light bulb. It made the blood spattered on the walls look black, and Zoey wasn't sure how the hell they were supposed to sleep in the middle of a bloodbath.

"Guys?" Louis said, frowning as he unrolled a sleeping bag, "Did we forget something in the car?"

"What?" Bill scowled.

"There're only three sleeping bags."

"Aw, hell," the veteran sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose wearily. That didn't seem like the sort of thing that would actually _bother_ him, and she wondered how much of his mood was affected by his smoking sabbatical.

"I don't need one," Francis said with a shrug, "I can sleep anywhere."

"You sure?" Bill asked him, scowling.

"Yeah, don't sweat it," he said, taking a seat next to the barricaded door.

"We'll check the RV in the morning for a spare," Bill decided, "First thing in the morning we'll head out."

Zoey hadn't been awake for very long in the van and found that she was restless now. From the floor, she could see long drips of blood running down a counter, and how blood had even been sprayed up on the ceiling. Intellectually, she was aware of the fact that children were very easy targets for zombies, but theidea _itself_ was horrifying. And the child whose body was outside... to have its own _father _turn...

Even Francis had been disturbed by it, and he was rather cavalier around dead bodies on the whole. They hadn't run into any child infected, either, and she wondered if their little bodies were just unable to take the infection. She hugged her sleeping bag around her tighter, willing herself to sleep. There was no reason _not _to sleep. They were safe, for now, and she didn't want to be drowsy for her driving shift.

She sat up after awhile, just for something to do, looking at the others. Though he'd gotten even more sleep than she had, Francis was already asleep, and the same went for Louis and Bill. Somehow they were able to just _turn off _when they needed too, and she envied that ability. Eventually she hoped she could cultivate it, because it was terribly inconvenient to do without.

Maybe if she had a more comfortable head rest... _no_. No, she wasn't going there. She was perfectly capable of sleeping without plastering herself all over a biker. There was no way she was going to turn codependent in the middle of the trip. At least she hoped it was the middle. The middle part that was closest to the end.

Tossing and turning for most of the night, Zoey was in a distinctly foul mood when Louis roused her with a gentle tap on the shoulder. She was the last person awake. The two of them rolled up the sleeping bags to pack in the van, and Louis told her that Bill and Francis had gone to check out the RV.

She sat on the step in the open sliding door and leaned her head to the side, watching Bill smoke in front of the RV. Francis, she assumed, was inside scrounging.

"Girl, you look like you didn't sleep a wink," Louis observed, leaning on the van near her.

"I didn't sleep very well, but I slept a little," she said, "Couldn't get comfortable."

"Well, you got time to sleep in the car," he reasoned. Zoey sat up when she saw Francis hop out of the RV, shaking his head at Bill. The veteran flicked his cigarette away and lit another on their way back.

"Stripped clean," Francis said when they were back in earshot, "Musta been here awhile."

They closed up the safehouse while Bill finished his cigarette. He noted her droopy expression and smirked.

"New driving order," he said, "Me, Louis, Francis, then Zoey."

"I'll be okay," she insisted, "You don't have to rearrange the whole thing just so I can sleep."

"Nah, I don't _have_ too," he agreed, "But I just did. Pile in, people. We're hittin' the road."

She stuck her tongue out at him, having a cheeky moment, and he ruffled her hair as he passed, making her laugh. God, how long had it been since she'd _laughed?_

"Scoot," Francis said, both hands on top of the van. It put him uncomfortably close to her, in fact, and she obeyed, sitting next to the window as he slid the door closed, adding, "Hey, dibs on the window seat."

"How am I supposed to get around your big ass?" Zoey wondered incredulously as Bill started up the car, "Here, wait..."

She squeezed up between Bill and Louis to let Francis slide past, "There."

He moved to his usual seat and Zoey plopped down next him. Once everyone was properly arranged, Bill drove back onto the road. Almost immediately she started to feel drowsy, but had a defiant urge to fight it. Or at _least_ sleep another way.

"Why doncha lay down, Zoey?" Francis urged, peering at her, "You look like shit."

"_Gee_, Francis, _thanks_," she said in much more scornful tone than she'd intended. Zoey glared sideways at him, but he looked unphased, raising an eyebrow slightly when she made eye contact.

It wasn't like she could sleep facing the other way. There was a space between the bench and the slider, and she couldn't sleep sitting up, so...

_Goddamn it_, she thought angrily. While she stewed, she noted that Francis tried to discreetly sniff under his arms, obviously thinking her protest had to do with his smell. He frowned and scratched under his chin afterwards, and Zoey laid her head down in a huff. This was the_ last_ time. Well, once they were out of the car, she'd stop. And when it was Francis' turn to drive she'd just recline the passenger's seat like Bill and Louis did.

Sleep took her swiftly.

When she woke up, Zoey noticed that her neck was at a strange angle and she sat up, frowning. She must've been sleeping pretty heavily if she hadn't noticed Francis get up.

The van was empty.

Fear clutched at her immediately. The front doors were open, the back hatch ajar, and the slider was open halfway.

"Guys...?" she called out. Her voice felt small and thin, almost _tinny_, and she felt under the seat for her guns. They were there.

She strapped them on, hands shaking, and drew her pistols before pushing the slider open. Zoey didn't know how long she sat there, frozen, waiting for the boys to return, but the longer she waited, the more certain she was that something _terrible_ had happened.

They weren't on the expressway anymore. The van was pulled off on the shoulder of a two-lane highway, and the silence was _deafening_. No animals chirped or peeped, and even the wind had died down. Only the crunch of her sneakers on the gravel kept her company, and the fear of drawing a horde onto herself by yelling out kept her lips pressed tightly together. Where had they gone?? Why had they just left her all _alone!?_

Zoey left the van and bolted for the tree line, crouching down next to one when she reached it and looking wildly out at the road, heart pounding in her chest.

_I'm alone I'm all alone they left me because I was holding them back oh god how could they_**stop it**.

She took deep gulps of air, forcing herself to calm down, to take stock. They _wouldn't_ leave her. _Some_thing had happened, and it was up to her to figure it out. Losing her shit wouldn't do anything but get _everyone_ killed.

Zoey whirled when she heard broken crying behind her, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling, guns drawn.

It was a little girl, just a few feet away, crying over something. She lowered her guns, not trusting her eyes for a moment. She could make out pink sneakers and a bright yellow shirt spattered with blood, the child's blonde hair matted and dirty. Perhaps she'd seen where the others had gone?

"Hey," she called out softly, creeping forward, "Little girl. Hey."

The girl didn't hear, or perhaps didn't want to hear, and continued to weep brokenly.

"Hey, it's okay," Zoey cooed, using her normal speaking voice. What was this poor thing doing out in the woods all alone? Maybe there was a campsite nearby and her parents had been attacked by infected.

She continued to cry, even when Zoey came up behind her, and she frowned when she got a look at what she was crying over. A shoe?

A sneaker.

"My sneaker," Zoey murmured, brow furrowing. The child whirled on her and screeched, her fingers like long knives, her eyes burning a hellish orange, and Zoey screamed.

"Whoa! Whoa, wake up! _Wake up!_"

Zoey's eyes flew open _they were already open_ and struggled against the hands on her _claws they were claws oh god they were tearing her apart _and then Francis came into focus. Seeing him was like getting a bucket of ice water dumped on her head, snapping her fully back into reality. Only her own ragged breathing filled the van, and Francis spoke again.

"That musta been a hell of a dream," he said worriedly, "You okay?"

She couldn't stop it this time. Zoey felt her lower lip quaver a moment before she burst into tears, burying her face in his chest and clutching at his vest, just needing to assure herself that he was _real_.

"_Jesus_," she heard Francis mutter, "Aw, jeez, what's _this?_ Stop cryin' Zoey, it was just a nightmare."

"She okay?" Louis said, his own voice laden with concern.

"Yeah, she's fine," Francis said, sounding uncomfortable, "Hey, c'mon, you're okay. Don't make a liar outta me, kid."

Awkwardly, a hand stroked her back, and she eventually faded into pathetic sniffles.

She knew the ensuing awkward silence in the van was her doing and she hated herself for it. That was it, right there. She'd jumped the shark. Now they'd all be falling over themselves to keep her from a slight breeze stirring her hair, telling her to wait behind instead of covering their backs... the thought made more tears well up in her eyes until Francis gave her a firm pat on the back to get her attention.

"You done getting' snot all over my shirt?" he asked gruffly. Zoey looked up at him and he smiled gently at her, "Hey,_ there_ she is."

She gulped a few times and looked down, feeling suddenly shy, feeling _stupid_. Who had nightmares that made them_ cry_, anyway? Four year olds?

"You dream that Francis had to do long division to save you?" Louis joked, obviously trying to cheer her up. She couldn't help but laugh weakly – even Francis chuckled – and shook her head, finally uncurling her fingers from his vest. Though she was reluctant to pull away, she forced herself too, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

Francis let her pull away but kept a hand on her shoulder, ducking his head down to peer at her.

"I dreamed that I was all alone," she said, voice small, "And then there was... there was a little girl, but she wasn't a little girl, she was a witch, and-"

Zoey's voice hitched and she closed her eyes, swallowing hard.

"_Nobody _gets left behind," Bill's steely voice cut in, making her open her eyes. She saw him looking at her in the rear-view mirror and nodded mutely.

"Think you can get back to sleep?" Louis wondered, offering her a warm smile when she looked at him next. It was hard not to smile back at him and she hugged herself as she shrugged.

"Probably," she said, "I guess I didn't sleep very long."

Reluctant, Zoey laid back down again, looking up curiously when a hand rested on her shoulder. Normally he kept it braced along the back of the seat.

"So I can punch the bad dreams if they come back," he explained.

"That's_ so_ lame, Francis," she muttered at him, smirking in spite of herself.

"Just go t'sleep, will yah?"

Rain began to plunk and tink against the van as she drifted off again, and she dreamily hoped they didn't get hit by a storm. It wasn't a good time to have low visibility.

Her sleep was dreamless and deep this time around, and she was jostled awake again before she was ready. Zoey growled something unpleasant, assuming it was Francis who had woken her, wondering what the hell was wrong now.

"I know, I know," he said, smirking at her, "But check it out. Highway sixty-two. You missed a storm too, by the way."

She sat up and peered out the window, keeping herself propped up on his leg with her arms. It was a two lane highway flanked by forest, but thankfully, it didn't twinge any unpleasant deja vu. So far this had been a _realistic_ movie. She _hated_ it when supernatural crap junked up her zombie flicks.

"How long until we get to the park, do you think?" she wondered sleepily, keeping her eyes out the window.

Bill, now in the passenger's seat, spoke up, "Few hours. We might have to hoof it, though. There's a lotta cars along the side of the road here. Might be clogged up the closer we get."

"I hope not," she said quietly. Though it was inevitable, she wasn't looking forward to creeping around out in the open again.

Zoey sat up all the way and Francis groaned quietly, rubbing his leg.

"Is my head really heavy or something?" she teased, "You always do that."

"Makes my fuckin' leg fall asleep," he groused, "That shit _stings_."

"Oh, I didn't... sorry Francis, I didn't know," Zoey grimaced.

"It ain't that bad," he assured her, "Clears up real fast, too. Relax."

Zoey didn't say anything else and rubbed at her eyes, deciding that she felt all-around crappy. She was nightmare having _crybaby _who didn't notice she was putting someone's leg to sleep. Plus she was a terrible shot and didn't even have a backpack.

_Ugh_.

She rubbed her face vigorously and slumped down in her seat. Maybe she was just getting stir crazy sitting around in the van. Though she still had to sit through Francis' shift, she was wide awake now with no means to amuse herself.

Zoey drummed her fingers on her legs and stretched her legs out between the seats, trying to see if she could touch the dash without slumping down much further. Her toes came up short and so she slumped down further, heedless of how it made her shirt and pull over ride up. It was only her stomach that was exposed, after all, and she was _bored_.

"The_ hell _are you doin'?" Bill asked her, turning in his chair to look at her.

"Tryin' to touch the dash from here," she said, voice tight with concentration. He raised an eyebrow but didn't comment further, facing forward again. At least she knew she wasn't the only one who didn't feel like sleeping.

Francis moved in her peripheral vision and she didn't think anything of it until he started tickling her, making her squeal and writhe away as he laughed.

"You ass!" she laughed, swatting at his hands.

"Couldn't help myself," he grinned broadly, "So yer ticklish, huh?"

"Settle down back there, kids, or I'll turn this car around!" Louis said gruffly, obviously trying to imitate Bill.

"I don't sound like that," Bill protested. There was a lighter tenor in his voice, and Zoey couldn't think of a time when they'd all been laughing and smiling together.

"Are _you_ ticklish?" Zoey wondered, wriggling her fingers menacingly.

"Nah," he said smugly, draping an arm over the back of the bench, resting the other on the window.

"Are you _suuuure?_" she pressed, inching forward on her knees, head ducked and eyes narrowed.

"Try me."

She hesitated, catching herself before she dove at him. This was... this was _flirting_. She was flirting with him _right now_.

_He'd_ started it!

"What?" he asked, "Afraid yah might break your fingers on my_ rockin'_ abs?"

Louis and Bill laughed even harder and Zoey slumped down on the bench, covering her face, laughing in spite of herself even as her face burned red. She'd set herself up for that one, so she had only herself to blame.

"You guys all _suck_," she announced.

"You're never gonna live that one down, Zoey," Louis said through his laughter, "That's pretty much a given."

"We better be careful," she said, voice muffled by her hands, "This is usually when something jumps out in front of the car and we gotta swerve around crazily to avoid hitting it."

"You are your movie crap," Bill said, "You need a new hobby, kid."

"Can I bum a cigarette?"

"Smartass."

They lapsed into a relaxed silence, one that didn't weigh heavily on their shoulders, and Zoey exhaled a contended sigh. Ever since her little cry-splosion, she'd felt lighter, like there wasn't so much pressing in on her anymore. Maybe it had been stupid to bite back tears for so long. It wasn't like she didn't have a worry in the world, she just felt like she had a _handle_ things.

_They_ had a handle on it.

Traffic thickened. For awhile they were able to skirt around the jam up by driving on the shoulder, but once they caught sight of the checkpoint – conveniently at the park entrance – they knew their time in the van had come to an end.

_WELCOME TO ALLEGHENY NATIONAL FOREST!_ a sign announced cheerily. The scene before them, illuminated by their headlights and the fading sunlight, was far from cheerful.

There were corpses sprawled out on the ground, some on the ticket booths, but only insects were interested in their bodies. She couldn't remember seeing a single bird since she'd left her dorm, come to think of it. Was the virus deadly to animals?

"I thought there'd be more infected," she whispered as they crept out of the van. Bill went around back and popped the trunk, taking stock of what they ought to carry and what they needed to leave behind.

"Musta found something better to do," Louis said, staring out into the darkness, "Pretty creepy, though."

"We'll continue on foot until morning," Bill decided, "Safehouse or not. This is the home stretch, people. We just need to keep our shit together until then."

Though it would've been very nice to take all the extra food, Bill only allowed them the backpacks and the sleeping bags, noting that they'd ditch the sleeping bags if they got too cumbersome. Zoey was glad to at least be carrying something again. Once they were all set, they stepped past the ticket booths.

There was another blockade behind the booths, this one made of sandbags and concrete walls, and they paused to read the signage. Most of it was warnings for motorists and those on foot, but there was a sign that had been pasted over one of them, directing people to take the hiking trail to a train yard, as that was where the evacuation point had been moved too. It was no longer in the park.

"Great," Louis muttered, "It's been moved to the other side of the forest. _Great_."

"This is _good_," Bill said, "They must still be actively picking people up if they had time to post a relocation sign."

"What's _good_ about walking through the woods at_ night?_" Francis protested, "I _hate_ the woods!"

"Sooner we get walkin', the sooner we're out," Bill assured him, "Let's go."

There were no abandoned military vehicles, something Bill took care to point out as they moved along the road, but Zoey didn't feel all that much better. Just because the military had left didn't necessarily mean it was a good thing. What if they'd left _entirely?_ They might get to the yard and find it overrun or empty, no further signage directing them to another extraction point.

But they'd come this far, hadn't they? At this point, it was too late to turn around and drive back.

This was the home stretch. She steeled herself, squared her shoulders, and clicked on her maglite. They just had to get to the train yard. After a city crawling with infected, this would be like a walk in the park.

So to speak.

* * *

_**A.N.: **My word you guys are fantastic. Thanks for the continued support and an inbox full of reviews! I hope you continue to enjoy this as we dive nose-first into Blood Harvest. Rawwwwrrr._


	8. The Woods

Thunder rolled ominously as they made their way along the winding road. The darkness was almost impenetrable, the clouds threatening rain overhead obscuring even starlight from breaking through and illuminating the path in front of them.

Only their flashlights lit the way, and they hardly seemed up to the task in such broad expanse of black _nothingness_. At first Zoey had found it claustrophobic, the way the trees crowded in around them, but now she'd come to see it as being surrounded by zombie hiding spots. There weren't hordes (not _yet_) but they charged out of the woods with strangled cries, and she jumped in alarm every time it happened. If it started to rain, the noise might drown out their charges entirely. Someone might get seriously hurt.

They were _exposed_. Vulnerable. It seemed strange, to only start feeling this way now, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Yes, there had been a great many more zombies in the city, but they were able to put their backs to things. There were places to hide, safehouses to scurry too. Here there was nothing but woods and open ground. If they were swarmed, they had nowhere to retreat too, nowhere to funnel them into a more manageable group.

It had been easy to forget how tense things had been on foot after even a short few days in the van, and she wondered if they ought to have taken_ another_ car, one on the other side of the jam up. With nothing but her pistols between her and getting mauled, she felt decidedly _less_ confident.

Bill wanted to make it to the trails by dawn, but if it started raining, she hoped they'd find a ranger station or at least a pavilion to wait out the downpour. She didn't see how getting soaked through and stumbling blindly through rain would be conducive to their continued survival.

"Look," Louis said quietly, timid of breaking the long standing silence, "That must be where the old evacuation point was."

Zoey might've found it humorous when thunder crackled ominously after his statement, but as it started to drizzle and then pour buckets onto their heads, she wasn't laughing. Unanimously, without even speaking, they began to jog in the direction of the large sign marking the visitor's center as an official evacuation point. There were other signs plastered up, severe instructions for evacuees to follow, but Zoey hardly glanced at them, flipping the hood of her hoodie up in a vain attempt to stay dry.

They were all soaked through by the time they threw the door of the center open, and when the infected loitering inside caught sight of them they were forced to give ground, standing out in the rain and fending them off. She couldn't help but notice that most of them were wearing army fatigues.

"I think that's the last of them," Bill called out over the rain, "Let's get inside."

The only light inside the visitor's center came from their flashlights and an occasional lightning strike off in the distance. Some of the infected inside hadn't been agitated by their first entrance, but once the four of them were fully inside they charged, gibbering and flailing their limbs.

"A lot more than I thought there'd be," Zoey said warily, poking one she'd shot with her toe. None of them had miraculously come back to life yet, but she didn't need anything grabbing her ankle on a dark and stormy night.

Bill only grunted and prowled the center with Francis at his side, the biker keeping his eyes out for trouble while the veteran took in the carnage around them. Herself and Louis were lingering near the center, eyes on the broken out windows and doors.

"Radio is FUBAR'd," Bill muttered, sifting through the remains of what Zoey supposed_ might've_ been a radio at some point, "Must've been left on and the infected kicked the livin' shit out of it."

"Great," Francis muttered, "How long we gonna hole up in this death trap anyhow? I hate standin' around in wet socks."

"We'll wait out the worst of this storm," Bill said, "Somebody find a damned light switch."

"I got it," Louis said, going over to a row of switches near a counter. Most of the shelves and chairs had been pushed to the side to make standing room, though none of the furniture seemed heavy enough to make adequate barricades.

Click. Click _clickclick_.

"Power's out," the businessman sighed, "Guess we're waitin' in the dark."

"Flashlight's off," Bill said, "Everyone in the center. Whoever picked this building to be an evacuation point was a goddamn_ idiot._"

They stood in the center of the abandoned evacuation point in dead silence for quite awhile, listening to the rain pound against the roof.

"How long we gonna stand here like this?" Francis asked.

"Until the rain lets up."

"What if it rains all damn night?"

"Then we'll _stand here_ all damn night."

"Guys?" Zoey asked, breaking into their building argument and pointing with her flashlight, "What if we stood over near the bathroom? I mean, it's probably small but its better than standing in the middle of all these windows, right?"

There was a moment of silence, and then Bill clapped her on the shoulder.

"Good thinkin' kiddo," he praised, "Let's go."

As they approached the restroom, however, an unpleasant noise became clearer.

"Someone's_ in_ there," Zoey whispered, pointing to the door, "Do you hear that?"

It sounded like someone was trying very hard not to puke, but there was a thick and unnatural quality to it, something that set her on edge. Was it a smoker? They probably weren't very tough up close, not with four people shoving guns in its face.

There was no doubt in any of their minds that an infected lurked on the other side of the door, and Zoey took a moment to be mildly creeped out by their silent groupthink. They all raised their weapons and Bill counted back from three on his fingers.

Zoey crouched next to him with Francis and Louis standing close behind them, and the veteran threw the door open.

For a split second, she was disgusted by the thing in front of her. It had once been human, she assumed, but it was bloated to horrific proportions, its skin straining with whatever awful fluids had built up inside of it.

It made a choked noise when it caught sight of them, and they all opened fire at once.

Opening fire on a creature that looked ready to burst proved to be a poor idea. It _exploded_.

It exploded disgusting, foul smelling goop all over them and sent them all staggering. Zoey and Bill were knocked back into Louis and Francis. Louis slipped on the gunk and started to fall, and only Francis remained standing, his boots keeping purchase on the goop slicked floor while the others slipped and slid.

The smell was overpowering, in her nose and mouth and eyes, and she wiped it off frantically.

"Fuckin' _gross!_" Francis said, his voice having gone up an octave, "Holy... it fuckin' _exploded!_ What the hell!? Are they supposed tah do that!? Eugh! _Fuck that!_"

"I'm gonna... _hungh_... I'm gonna puke," Zoey gagged. There was no part of her that _wasn't_ drenched in goo.

"Don't, please," Louis begged in a thin voice, "If I see someone puke, I'm gonna puke, and it ain't gonna be pretty."

"Don't even _talk _about pukin'," Francis whined, "How are we supposed tah wash this shit _off?_"

"Shut the hell up, _all _of you!" Bill barked, "_Listen_."

It was barely audible through the downpour, but they all knew it when they heard it – the sound of an incoming horde.

"Shit," Louis said, "_Shit_. What are we gonna do?"

"Into the bathroom," Bill said, "Go, _now!_"

"But it's-"

"_Get inside_."

Despite their reluctance, the four of them squeezed into the unisex bathroom with the gory lower half of the infected that had exploded on them. The floor was slick with guts and a thin layer of the pus-like fluid that was dripping off of them even now.

"Oh Jesus, what are we gonna do?" Zoey wondered, huddling against the far wall. She was soaked through, cold, and sick to her stomach.

"Shoot em'," Francis said, scowling as he wiped gunk off of his shotgun.

"Go into my pack for a pipe bomb, Zoey," Bill said. Despite his harsh tone a moment ago, his voice was calm now. He used his thumb to wipe goo off of his rifle's scope absently.

She holstered her guns (_splintering wood and shattering glass, they were already here_) and sifted through his pack, swallowing the urge to apologize for how much gunk she was getting all over his stuff. Zoey found the pipe bombs packed neatly near the side and slid one out just as the bathroom door banged open.

"_Occupied!_" the biker shouted as he fired at the first infected that came screeching inside, spraying all of them liberally with its guts, "Aw, sick- _holy shit!_"

The zombies _poured _inside the tiny room. Those that couldn't fit through the doorway started to pound and scratch at the drywall to make their own hole.

"Throw it, Zoey!" Bill urged her, "Throw-_argh!_"

"_Bill!_"

Francis turned to shoved the tenacious infected off of the veteran, but the second he turned his back, one leapt on him and started to gnaw on his head.

"Son of a_ bitch!_" he swore, punching at it and staggering. He slipped in the gook and fell down, jostling Louis, who grabbed at the wall to keep from going down himself, aiming his uzi out into the throng.

"Stay down!" he urged before he squeezed the trigger, sawing some of the closer infected in half and causing others to stagger back. It was only a split second reprieve as infected surged to fill the gap.

Zoey almost dropped the pipe bomb with her pus-slicked hands as she fumbled for the switch. Two tries (_come on comeon_)and she flicked it on, the high pitched beeping almost instantly having an effect on the infected.

"Throw it, _throw it!_" Louis shrieked at her. He was trying to reload and having minimal success.

If she aimed too high she'd bounce it off of the door frame and blow them up. If she just _stood_ there, she'd blow them up. But if she managed to throw it out into the seething mass screaming for their blood, they might make it out into the rain to wash all this horrible stuff off.

She threw it. The pipe bomb whirled through the air, the blinking red light and high pitched beeping making the infected nearly break their necks to track it. Zoey didn't even understand why they were more interested in it than them covered in slime, but she didn't question it.

The tidal wave of infected ebbed, now rushing to get to the beeping instead of the stinky people, and shortly afterward an explosion rocked the small building. She'd at least had the presence of mind to cover her ears, crouching down next to Bill to make sure he was all right.

There was silence for a few minutes, and the few infected that weren't taken out by the pipebomb were easily dealt with.

They had two pipe bombs left, and quite a ways to go. All they had to do was make it to the train yard, though. There couldn't be that many between them and their goal, not after such a big crowd, right?

"All right, everybody up," Louis said, sounding shaken, "You okay Francis?"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, "Just covered in vampire snot. _Eugh_."

"Bill?" Zoey asked, offering the veteran a hand and a worried expression. He took her hand and sat up with a groan, taking a moment to get his bearing before he stood up the rest of the way.

"I'm okay," he assured her, "Just wasn't quite ready to get bum rushed. Let's get outside before any more sniff us out."

The four of them shuffled outside, and Zoey might've laughed at their turn around if they hadn't been a hair from getting mobbed to death. She would gladly take being soaked to the bone over facing down a swarm of infected face to face, covered in putrid yellow-green bile or slime or whatever that had been.

"So," Bill said grimly, "Don't shoot the fat ones."

"A-fuckin'-men to that," Francis said, "We gonna keep walkin'?"

"Yep," the veteran said, "We'll dry out later."

"No argument here," Louis said.

They trudged onwards in silence. Zoey let out a sigh of relief when the rain started to relent, but with it came a cool breeze, an ominous portent of the months to come. It was nearing the end of August, creeping into September, and though it would probably stay pleasant for a few more weeks, eventually the air would chill and before they knew it, fall would be over and winter would be burying them in snow.

They wouldn't be able to last on their own in that sort of weather, not in the Northeast. She shivered and hoped the wind would dry her out quickly.

The wind turned out to be a blessing after awhile, blowing the clouds away and giving them a bit more than just their flashlights to work with. It wasn't much, but she'd take it as a sign that the world wasn't _entirely _out to get them.

"Shouldn't be much further to the trail we need," Bill commented. He pulled his cigarette packet out of his front pocket and swore after a moment, throwing the packet off into the woods with a growl and a curse. While he dug through his backpack for another packet, Zoey tried not to think about how her clothes were sticking to her uncomfortably.

_Everyone_ looked bedraggled and miserable, at least, so she wasn't alone. Would it be ironic or just pathetic if they died of pneumonia before they could get rescued? She hoped nobody found out – it wasn't _that_ cold.

"When I find out who's in charge of this operation," the veteran said idly, the bright cherry of his cigarette the only warm color she'd seen since the last safehouse, "I'm gonna chew 'em out for the piss-poor effort."

"If there even_ is_ anyone in charge," Francis snorted.

"There's _always_ somebody in charge."

"Oh yeah? Who's in charge a' the zombies?"

"Go tah hell, Francis," Bill said after a long pause. Francis laughed triumphantly, but Zoey imagined it was a rather hollow victory. He was still just as wet and miserable as the rest of them.

Not too surprisingly, they did not run into many infected on their way to the trail, though the implication that the explodey-zombie's guts drew them from so far away was an unpleasant enough notion to counterbalance the otherwise positive occurrence. It served to drive the point home not to get any on them.

"Look, there," Louis said, shining his flashlight straight ahead, "Is that the trail we want?"

"Sure is," Bill said, "Home stretch, people. Lets keep our shit together and take it nice and easy."

They stepped off of the paved road and onto the dirt footpath, unconsciously drawing closer together on the narrower stretch. The trees were closer, some unruly branches hanging low over their heads, and the ambient sounds of the woods crowded in around them.

The path itself was more mud than dirt, threatening to suck off their shoes in some places, but nobody dared to even mutter a complaint (except Francis). With a thick canopy over their heads, they had to rely on their flashlights again, the moonlight unable to filter all the way through. Water dripped down on them steadily, and Zoey began to wonder if she'd ever know what it was like to be dry again.

At least she didn't stink. Well, not that she was sure she'd be able to smell anything at all for at least a few days. The smell of the slime had more or less burned out her olfactory senses.

She couldn't get a good read on the others in the darkness. Bill had become more steadily determined that they would be out of trouble and in good hands sooner than later. Louis, like herself, was completely out of his element in the woods, his unflappable optimism dimmed. Francis... was Francis. He was just _annoyed_ by his current inconvenience (_"I hate mud!" she'd heard him hiss under his breath_) and she wondered if it was a front or if he really was that unconcerned with the whole zombie apocalypse thing.

"I don't believe it," Bill said, snapping her to attention again. He had his flashlight aimed at a wooden billboard that was normally used to store maps and pamphlets on the trails. There was a safehouse symbol crudely made out of reflective tape shining back at them, an arrowing pointing off to the right of the trail.

"I don't see nothin' back there," Francis scowled, "Maybe we should keep goin'."

"We need time to dry off an' make sure we got all the damn stink off," Bill said, "Gettin' evaced'll be great, but we gotta keep our shit together."

"You said that already," the biker said.

"Did it sink inta that thick skull of yours yet?" Bill asked as he stepped off the path and into the woods. Francis followed without complaint, and Zoey followed them with decidedly less confidence, glancing at Louis to see what he thought. He shrugged at her and she was inclined to agree – one way was just as good as another, really, and a chance to dry off was welcome.

The safehouse, it turned out, was a ranger's station. It was an ugly concrete building with small windows, and though there was a floodlight out in front, the power outage kept it from being of any real use.

Having four sturdy walls and a roof over her head was a great relief, though the power being out was an unfortunate turn of events. All the way out here, she supposed, it was easier to get cut off from the main grid. Most stuff was probably run on generator, and generator's made a hell of a lot of noise.

Louis and Francis barred the door while she and Bill looked the place over. There was a desk with an inert radio on it that had been pushed to the side, a small kitchen, a closet-sized bathroom and a slightly-larger-than-closet sized bedroom with two cots arranged as bunk beds.

"Pretty cozy," Bill said, "But we've done worse. Ain't like we're sleepin' in here."

Zoey allowed herself to be jealous as the others stripped their tops off as well as their shoes, draping them over chairs and the desk to dry. She was able to take her shoes off, at least, but her modesty was still strong enough to keep her from taking anything else but her hoodie off. In retrospect, the fact that Francis had picked out a _white_ T-shirt for her to wear had been rather transparent. Thankfully, it was too dark for anyone to benefit.

Bill went one step farther, draping his pants over a chair and heading into the tiny bedroom in just his boxers. She supposed spending time in the army had eliminated any notion he'd had of modesty or privacy. Though she expected the others to follow suit, neither Francis or Louis seemed game to join him.

"Aw, no pajama party?" she teased, trying to break the tension somewhat.

"I'm wearin' briefs," Louis said, as though that explained everything, "Who gets top bunk for the dry-a-thon?"

"Zoey," Bill called out from the bedroom, apparently calling dibs on the bottom already.

"Aw, not even a vote?" he said, though he didn't protest otherwise.

Zoey felt a bit guilty and waved a hand thoughtlessly, "You can go ahead Louis, really. I bet we'll have feathery down beds with electric blankets at the military base. You can hide your briefs under a sheet."

Bill frowned at her from where he was sitting on the bottom bunk, flicking a look at Francis, who was standing behind her. She blinked, not understanding for a moment. Was he annoyed that she was making jokes about the military? Zoey got it a moment later, frowning back at him and shaking her head discreetly. He thought... he thought she was letting Louis use the sheets for cover so she could strip down to her knickers in front of Francis! Zoey _remembered _their talk. It wasn't like that at all, _damn it_, she just didn't want to be the only one who was comfortable (relatively) for the entire trip. The thought made her face burn with a mixture of anger and something_ else_, and she was grateful for the lack of light.

"I ain't tired," Francis announced from his perch on the desk, leaning his arms on his knees.

"Me either," Bill admitted, "Just enjoy the down time and dry the hell off. We'll give it a few hours and move on."

Zoey lasted five minutes before she made a frustrated noise and holed up in the bathroom, stripping off her soaked through clothing with a sigh of relief.

"I hope yer tapin' what yer doin' in there!" Francis called out.

"You're sick, man," Louis said.

She smirked as she laid her things out, closing the lid of the toilet and sitting on it when she was satisfied, and _waited_. It wasn't long before she decided that it was akin to watching paint dry and let out a weary sigh, fussing with her hair to pass the time. Even after a few days it was already hopelessly matted and gnarled, though by some small miracle she still had her hair tie. She swept up her frizzy, tortured hair and forced it back into a rather shapeless ponytail. Maybe she ought to cut it short, make it more apocalypse friendly, but she didn't think she was that kind of chick. She liked her hair long, damn it, zombies be damned.

The grim silence they'd all sank into was unpleasant, especially since they were enjoying what was some actual free time. Nobody was chatting or joking or _anything_, really. She could probably start it up, but somehow she doubted it would be welcome.

Every minute they spent in the safehouse might be a minute that the military pulled further back. Being dry and collected was important, though. If they were off their game for even a second out there, things could easily go to shit.

She about fell out of her seat when the light in the bathroom flickered on, temporarily blinding her, and she could hear the radio burst to life. Francis swore, fumbling to turn it down a bit, the static of the dead air hissing out of the speakers furiously.

"_Move_, Francis," Zoey heard Bill growl. The radio started to make strange noises as he tuned it, trying to find an active frequency. He paused a moment on the emergency broadcast they'd heard downtown, but it remained unchanged.

"God_dammit_," he said, "Why aren't they on air?"

"Maybe they just aren't broadcasting constantly," Louis said, voice quiet, "I mean, there are so few immunes. Maybe they're a little in over their heads trying to extract people."

"_Or _they're all fuckin' dead," Francis added oh-so-cheerfully.

"Don't be like that, man, it doesn't help," he said, a frown in his voice.

"Half the infected we been runnin' into out here got fatigues on," the biker said harshly, "They're just as hosed as we are."

"They might be using a frequency this radio can't tune into," Bill said stubbornly, "We're stickin' to the plan and heading to the train yard."

Zoey leaned her head against the wall and sighed quietly, watching her toes curl and uncurl as she flexed them. Times like these seemed to put in sharp relief how different they all were, and how little they really knew about each other. She was attached to them, but what was she actually attached too? Was it their true personalities? Was it something more _real_, brought to the surface by grim reality? Or was it the complete opposite, just another mask to wear, just another role to play until something better came along?

She smirked at herself. Here she was, sitting by herself in her underpants in a bathroom, trying to plumb the depths and dynamics of a group of people who'd banded together only a few days ago. It was hard not to think about it, though, as they drew closer to inevitable rescue (she _believed_ Bill, she _knew_ they'd find the military). Would they be drawn off to their own kind amongst the other survivors (if there were any_shut up of course there were_) or would they stick together?

Bill spent the rest of their down time cycling through frequencies. The others she didn't know about, Louis and Francis keeping to themselves. She felt her clothes frequently, wondering if 'slightly damp' was dry enough for them to get moving. Zoey could deal with 'slightly damp' if it meant she didn't have to be cramped up in a tiny bathroom.

Resolved, she dressed and emerged from the bathroom, blinking at the much brighter light outside of it. It was lit by a naked fluorescent bulb and she put up a hand to block it a moment.

"Dry already?" Bill asked as he turned around, eyebrows raised.

"Dry enough," she said, "Suck it up ladies! Let's rock and roll!"

Her sass earned her some laughter and she smiled a little.

"Yes _ma'am_," Francis said, grabbing his socks first and grinning at her. Zoey rolled her eyes, and when they were all dressed again Bill turned the radio off and opened the door, leading them back out into the woods.

Despite her joke, there was still and uneasy tension between them. It wasn't obvious but she knew it was there, and she knew she wasn't imagining it either. Everyone's jaw was clenched, weapons un-holstered, eyes darting around at the darkness. Zoey was near ready to concede that the wide-open nature of the forest meant they'd be on razor's edge the entire time. It didn't seem right, but maybe that was her movie-sense talking. They'd been through quite a few climaxes already, which meant, technically, they ought to be able to quip their way to the finale, merrily shooting zombies over their shoulders and doing awesome stunts. Bill could jump over a train car in a Humvee with a gat on the top (_Louis would be manning the gat of course_), while she and Francis hung out the windows gleefully pegging zombies with golf clubs.

They could drive off into the sunset like that. The end. Roll credits. Good movie.

But no. She was stuck in the Blair Witch of zombie movies. They were in a dank, muddy forest surrounded by infected they couldn't even see. A bunch of dumb _crap_ would happen and _then what?_ Somebody would find her cellphone, which she hadn't even realized she'd had recording the whole time, and...

_Shut UP_, Zoey scolded herself. She walked a little faster, scowling without realizing it, and dared a zombie to jump out into the path. There had been a time when she just couldn't _wait _to be lost in her own thoughts, daydreaming about how much better her life would be if it were a movie, and the stupid zombies had taken that all away. Her fantasy had become a grim and cold reality.

It wasn't lots of cool explosions and gun tricks. It was guilt and fear and putrid exploding zombies and damp underwear. If (_when, they _were_ going to make it_) they made it out of this intact, she decided she was going to be the first person to get the movies going again. Every survivor was going to have a story worth telling. A _real _story.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Louis said softly, startling her anyway. She shot him a confused look and he smiled, "You look like you're solvin' the worlds problems over there."

"Oh," she said, shrugging a little and looking away, "Just... thinking."

"Yeah," he laughed, "About what?"

He glanced at Bill, but the veteran seemed fine with their chatter for now.

"Just... how are things going to _be?_" she wondered. Zoey felt a bit awkward talking out loud about her thoughts just now. She'd always been keen to wax philosophical with her friends at college, but not everyone found that particular method of passing time worthwhile.

"When we get to the base?"

"Ever after that," she said, "If the whole world has been decimated by this virus thing... I mean are we basically_ extinct _now? We're back to the stone ages pretty much, you know?"

"Heavy shit, girl," Louis whistled, raising his eyebrows at her, "Maybe it isn't as bad as you're thinking. We really have no concept of how things outside right now."

"We sort of _do_, though," she protested, "We've traveled a fair way and ran into hardly anyone."

_And we left some people to die not too long ago_, a dark though chimed in. She ignored it.

"No sense worrying about it until we're in a safe zone, I think," Louis said, adjusting his grip on his pack uncomfortably, "Seems... seems impossible for humanity to just be _over with_, though. Doesn't seem like that could be _real_."

"I'll do _my_ duty t' get the population back up," Francis chimed in.

"Jesus _Christ_ Francis, do you think about anything else?" Bill snapped at him.

"What!? They're talkin' about it! How come I can't?"

"They got more than half a brain, jackass," the veteran said, "Stay out of it!"

"Just cause you ain't eligible t'help don't mean you gotta spoil my fun," the biker said, undaunted.

"If you think_ any_ woman is gonna have _your_ apocalypse babies, Francis, you got another thing comin'," Bill said dryly.

"Aw, c'mon!" Francis protested, "I'm good lookin'!"

"You gotta face for radio that's for damn sure," Bill said.

Zoey leaned on Louis, laughing so hard that no sound was coming out. He wasn't faring much better, making squeaky, wheezy sounds as he fought to add more insults to the banter but failed, unable to draw in enough air.

"Damn right," the biker said, pausing for a good few minutes before blinking and then snarling, "_Hey!_ That ain't a compliment!"

"Holy shit, we got a live one," Bill cackled.

"Fuck you old man," Francis grumbled, embarrassed.

Bill shook his head and slapped the biker on the back, "Never change, Francis."

The biker grunted and elbowed Bill, making him stumble, but the spry veteran recovered easily, still laughing quietly. Francis looked over his shoulder to glare at Zoey and Louis next, and eye contact with him only sent them into another fit of laughter.

"Yeah, laugh it up," he said sullenly, "You all can kiss my ass."

Zoey wiped at her eyes. Her _face_ hurt from laughing. She couldn't have asked for a better result from her rather depressing topic of conversation. It was difficult to feel_ too_ bad for teasing Francis. Zoey would put money on him being the one who beat the shit out of the 'nerdy' kids on the playground in elementary school. He'd earned a little light hearted ribbing.

Their laughter, coupled with a lack of infected, served to keep the mood much less ominous. They still moved quickly, flashlights constantly sweeping out into the dense forest, but there was much less scowling. It was an easy, comfortable silence, and she'd take it.

Without a heavy pack she was able to keep up with the fitter men as well, and it helped boost her confidence a bit. She was still tired from all the damned walking, but her muscles weren't burning in agony from the exertion anymore.

"Look," Bill said, pointing out another billboard with his flashlight, "There's a campsite ahead. Should probably be another sign about the extraction point there. Double time, people!"

If he was trying to hide the excitement in his voice, he wasn't succeeding, but Zoey didn't let herself join in with him. Not yet. Not until she saw the sign for herself, maybe even saw some people loitering around waiting for daylight to make a break for it. God, had they _really _been at it all night?

They broke through the treeline and into a large clearing on an overlook a while later. There was another billboard with a picnic table next to it, and nothing else.

"The hell?" Bill muttered, walking over to the billboard and blocking it from view. Zoey went to the edge of the overlook. It was a rather beautiful vista with the morning sun spilling over the tranquil forest.

"Mother_fucker_," the veteran swore, making her look over sharply.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"It ain't at the train yard anymore," Bill said bitterly, "Look. What the hell _is _this horseshit, a _farm?_"

Her stomach turned over uneasily. He'd been _convinced_ they were near the end of their struggle, but if they had to make their way_ through_ the train yard... oh like she knew _anything_ about train yards. Was it _really_ that bad?

"Well they can't pull out much farther than that, right?" Louis offered, "I mean, any farther and they're just sittin' in the base. _You _said earlier that them posting signs was a _good_ thing."

"Yeah, I was thinkin' they were _recent_. This shit might be _days_ old by now," Bill said, lighting a cigarette in what Zoey supposed was the most _furious_ way possible, "Son of a _bitch_ how long do we gotta claw our way through all this garbage before someone _helps_ us?"

"We're gonna make it," Louis insisted, "Look how far we've come! Shit, a few days ago we were downtown. Now we're in the middle of the woods. We are kickin' _ass_."

Bill sat down on the picnic table and let out a ragged sigh, looking at the ground. If he was stirred by Louis' speech, it didn't show.

"What's the plan, Bill?" Francis said, making the older man look up. They glared at each other for a few minutes, Bill angry, Francis defiant, until Bill broke eye contact and looked up the trail.

"We'll get some rest," he said, "And make a break for the train yard before sunset. No tellin' when we'll get a chance to sleep next so we'll do it now. I'll take first watch."

Francis seemed satisfied with that answer and unrolled his sleeping bag. Louis followed suit, and Bill tossed the one he'd been carrying at Zoey. It was mildly amusing to her, how they'd all automatically laid their sleeping bags next to each other when the entire clearing was available.

"We'll be leavin' those here," Bill said, watching the path, "Enjoy em while you can."

For once, Zoey found it easy to fall asleep, and wondered if her sleeplessness before had been caused more by lack of burning energy than being uncomfortable. She'd take restlessness, though, if it meant she didn't have to walk across an entire park and get exploded on by zombies.

When a hand shook her awake, most of the daylight was gone and she sat up with a frown. Nobody had woken her up for a turn at watch? Given, it wasn't like they'd taken a very _long_ rest, but...

Before she could ask or protest, Bill was handing her a pipe bomb, and she noticed that he'd spread out most of their things on the picnic table.

"We're carryin' as little as possible now," he said, "Clip it to your belt."

Zoey didn't know how she felt about the further slimming down of their supplies. What if they got to the farmhouse and that was abandoned, too? Not bringing all their food and ammunition seemed like painting themselves into a corner.

"Bill," she began hesitantly, his steely eyes stopping her short.

"If we get all the way out to that farmhouse, there ain't no turnin' back, anyway," he said with grim certainty.

"That's... if that's how it is, maybe we should go with a different plan," Zoey said, glancing at Louis and Francis. Francis didn't look back at her, but Louis nodded a little.

"She's got a point," he said, "I know we've come far, but shit, we got pretty far in the van. Maybe we could-"

"What?" Bill said shortly, "What do you think just the _four_ of us can do?"

"I dunno man, find a secluded place and just... settle in!"

"Every time we went on a supply run we might all get killed," Bill said, "Have you seen anything bigger than a damned fly since we been out? This virus has wiped out _everything_, Louis. We ain't gonna live offa the land. Our only chance is to be with other people, people who have bigger damn guns than_ we_ do. People who _might_ have a better plan than just 'make it another day without bein' murdered by zombies'!"

"You don't gotta jump down my throat," Louis said, frowning, "I just want to make sure we've really thought out all our options."

"We had four options, at the fire station. This one was what we picked," Bill said, "It's a too late for second thoughts. God help me, I'm going to see it through to the bitter end, and you're _all _comin' with me."

"I'm with yah, man," Francis said.

"Yeah," Louis sighed, "Me too."

"I wouldn't miss it," Zoey said. The sincerity surprised her a little and she smiled.

"Let's go, then," Bill said, flicking his cigarette away, "We've burned enough daylight."

Zoey found that a great deal was put in sharp relief with her new understanding. This was their final run, rain or shine. Lightning bugs danced just off the trail, reveling in the twilight and the moisture the rain had brought, and she smiled to herself. She remembered being fascinated by the glowing insects, laughing and chasing them and scooping them up into a jar. Not for _too_ long, though, she'd been taught, or they'd die. They were better off free, so she could keep enjoying them.

It was bittersweet, she realized, the possibility of being the last person with that sort of happy, mundane memory.

"Dead ahead," Bill said crisply, his voice bringing her back into focus. Infected. A _lot_ of them, too. She steeled herself as they spread out into a firing line and Bill knelt, peering through the scope.

Their first engagement with the infected for that day left her feeling uneasy. They were still sluggish from recharging or napping or _whatever_ the hell they did during the day and it was easy to pick them off. They moved forward steadily, but slowly, and she wondered if that was a mistake.

By the time the sun had nearly set they'd reached another small campsite, and Bill seemed to thinking along the same lines as she was.

"We gotta move faster," he said, "They're startin' t'get nasty and we still can't see the damn yard."

"Whoa!" Francis exclaimed, popping one in the chest as it flew out of the woods at him, "Jesus I didn't even_ see_ that one. Aw... aw _damnit_..."

He started to scrap zombie guts off of himself, disgusted, but stopped grumbling when Bill raised a hand in alarm.

"There's somethin' out there," he whispered, "Let's move."

They broke into a jog to get across the campsite, and Zoey nearly tripped over her own feet when she heard harsh coughing echo all around them. Those fucking things could _all_ go die in a fire as far as she was concerned.

"Keep movin'," Bill hissed urgently, "Stick together. Don't stop."

Infected hurled themselves out of the woods as they jogged, and they were promptly met with gun butts and bullets to keep them at bay. Try as they might, though, fighting off infected and moving didn't jive well with sticking together, and Bill pulled ahead while Francis lagged behind. The biker enjoyed beating on zombies a little too much, and Bill was too eager to make it to the train yard.

The veteran was the first to come around the bend and stop at the rope bridge, swearing, and Zoey couldn't help but agree. They'd be sitting ducks. A rope bridge? _Really?_ The thought that they were being conspired against occurred to her, but she dismissed it quickly. That was just silly.

Once Francis had caught up and noticed the bridge, he groaned.

"Are you shittin' me?"

"It's just a bridge," Bill said, "Zoey, you first. Louis next. Then Francis. Go!"

Zoey didn't argue and started to walk out onto the bridge, grabbing onto the rope railings as it rocked. It wasn't extremely rickety, but she hadn't been expecting it to move.

"_Go_," Bill urged, "Haul ass!"

She swallowed and let go of the railings, intent on _hauling ass_. When she looked head of her however, she yelled and came to a stop, clumsily drawing her pistols to fend off the infected already charging at them.

"We should back off!" Zoey squealed, "There are more coming!"

"Can't!" Bill said, "We're boxed in- shit, look out!"

The bridge tilted dangerously and for a horrible moment Zoey was convinced they were all going to fall off. She grabbed the rail with an arm and looked behind her with wide eyes, trying to find out just what the hell was going on.

"Shoot it _shoot it!_" Francis screamed, both arms wrapped tightly around the railing. There was a long, pustulant tongue wrapped around his middle, and currently, only his arms were hooked on the railing of the bridge.

"I'm _tryin'!_" Bill assured him, attempting to steady his aim. The bridge kept swaying, making his task rather difficult.

Louis was fending off both sides of charging infected (some had fallen off when the bridge jerked) while she struggled to regain her footing, and she made the mistake of looking down. Oh god, it was a VERY long drop.

"Shoot the tongue!" the biker urged, yelping as his grip slipped, only his hands grasping the rope and slipping fast, "Jesus _do _something _I'm gonna fall you old fuckin' bastard!_"

The rifle cracked sharply and the tongue went slack, and Francis grunted as he was suddenly fighting gravity instead of a infected.

Zoey tore her eyes away from the scene and focused on helping Louis cut the infected down.

"Can you get yourself up?" Bill asked.

"You're the one who has problems gettin' it up, not me," Francis muttered, dragging himself back onto the bridge with effort, "Cut it a bit close there, didn't ya?"

"Stop yakkin' and start shootin'!"

"Should we throw a pipe bomb?" Zoey wondered over the din of gunfire. Her ears were going to be ringing for awhile after this.

"No, save it!" Bill shouted, "Push forward."

They ducked into an abandoned trailer on the other side of the bridge in an attempt to funnel the infected that seemed to be coming from everywhere.

"I thought I saw an overpass, for tracks," Bill said as he checked his rifle, "We're close."

"_How_ close, though?" Francis said, "They're pretty rowdy in this neck a' the woods."

"We can't stay in here, so it don't matter much," Bill snapped at him, "Let's do this right. _Stay together_ and keep movin'."

They were already worn out from the constant skirmishing, but the veteran was right. Aside from the lack of a red door, Zoey doubted the thin walls of the trailer would last long if enough determined infected were pounding on it.

"Wonder why they're so _pissed off _out here?" Louis muttered as they prowled back outside, "They seemed a_ lot_ more mellow in the city."

"Must be quieter out here," Zoey said softly, "They_ really_ hate noise."

"Look! Down there!" Bill exclaimed, pointing down to their left, "If that ain't a train yard then I'm the Queen of England."

"How we gonna get down?" Francis asked.

"Keep goin' around," the veteran said, "There's gotta be access."

They started down an incline, looking everywhere but ahead of them for a sign of stairs or a ladder down, and Zoey only just happened to glance around a rock when her eyes focused on a symbol she had come to know and love.

"Guys, safehouse!" she shouted out excitedly, wincing at how her voice echoed. She winced more when three grown men shushed her like a child and she mouthed '_Sorry!_' with hunched shoulders.

"Holy shit, here they come," Francis noted half a second later, pointing out to their right, "_Holy shit!_"

"_Run!_" Louis suggested. They all broke into a sprint for the safehouse – there weren't enough bullets in the _world_ to cut down the mob charging for them.

Louis sprinted ahead of them and was the first to reach the door, fumbling with it awkwardly. Zoey nearly fell into him next, her legs convinced she ought to just _keep going_ despite her brains insistence that she _couldn't_ run through walls.

"It's too heavy!" Louis panted. Zoey pulled at it with him and the metal groaned as they started to pull it open what seemed like a centimeter at a time. _Oh god, oh god, she'd killed them all because she couldn't keep her fucking mouth shut_.

"What the hell are you two _doin'!?_" Bill demanded breathlessly, though he joined into pulling the heavy door as soon as her realized what the problem was.

Francis stumbled into them last and threw his weight into the door, and it screamed open angrily. When they'd all tumbled inside he closed the door by himself with a primal snarl of effort. It slammed shut and he fell backwards, leaving Bill and Louis to bar it.

The infected hit it second later, making the solid door shudder from the impact. They all watched it, breathing heavily, not daring to speak, wondering if it would hold up against such a ferocious onslaught.

It held.

Francis lay flat on his back and stared at the ceiling. Bill shakily lit a cigarette. Louis peered out a slat in the other door the room had, frowning out at the dismal, dark scene outside.

Zoey just focused on breathing.

"Zoey?" Bill addressed after smoking half of his cigarette. He still sounded out of breath.

"Yeah?" she peeped.

"Do that again and you're grounded," he said.

"Yes, sir," Zoey said.

* * *

_**A.N.:** You guys are blowing my mind. Seriously, there it is, splattered all over the wall. I can't say thank you enough times but **THANKS!** I only hope I can do Blood Harvest justice as we follow our plucky survivor's through to the finale. *crosses fingers*  
_


	9. The Home Stretch

Although she had previously enjoyed reading the graffiti others had left behind in the safehouses they'd been through before, the things scrawled in this particular room were not terribly encouraging. Quite a few people had been through it, which meant Bill's guess at the new evacuation sign being days old wasn't far off the mark. There was helpful advice (_Follow the tracks! _someone had illustrated near the other door), but there were portents of doom as well. _We deserve this_, someone else had written, drawing the ire of others.

Signs that people had more recently been through were _some_what cheering. There were abandoned suitcases, water jugs, a coffee pot... someone had even rigged a hotplate to a car battery, telling her that they must've been through while the power had been out. Maybe they'd catch up with them, and end up traveling together.

Not likely. Guiltily, she wasn't sure she _wanted _to run into anyone else until they were someplace safe and permanent. Even _that_ wasn't a guarantee, she knew, but thoughts of the motel still lurked at the corners of her mind.

She continued to real the scribblings on the wall to keep busy. The army was only taking immunes. The army was swarmed. The army was Q'd.

"Bill?" Zoey asked. The veteran looked up from what must have been his fifth smoke. He was on his last pack (since he'd only _brought_ one, something Zoey found a tad ominous) and seemed intent on getting most of his smoking out of the way now, "What's this mean, _Q'd?_"

"Quarantined, I'd guess," Bill said, "Maybe they had an outbreak."

"I wonder how much of this is actually true," she sighed, legs swinging off the edged of the desk she was sitting on. There were a few pushed up into the center of the room along with a table.

"They could be referring to whatever happened at the visitor's center, or even here at the yard," he pointed out, "Not everyone is travelin' the exact same way we are."

Zoey blinked, and then felt stupid. That hadn't really occurred to her, for some reason, and she nodded. She stretched and hopped off the desk a moment later. They were only taking a short breather, according to Bill, and she was itching to go.

Francis was still sprawled out on his back on the floor and a mischievous smile curled onto her face. Was _somebody_ being a drama queen because he'd pulled the big heavy door shut all by him_self?_

"You okay down there?" she asked, coming to stand near his head and looking down at him. He frowned back up at her and moved a hand underneath him to rub the small of his back.

"I think I hurt my back," he said, "Gimme a few more minutes."

"_Awww_," Zoey pouted at him, sticking out her lower lip, "Does Fwancis have a _boo-boo?_"

Louis snickered, quickly covering his mouth to muffle it, but Bill only watched her like a hawk. She wasn't sure what she was doing wrong right now, but she wished he'd quit it – couldn't she tease the world's whiniest biker a little bit without it being counted as flirtatious?

"If I do, are you gonna kiss it better?" Francis wondered, his frown rather quickly shifting to a leering grin.

"Maybe if I stepped on your face it would distract from your back," Zoey threatened, picking of a foot and hovering it over Francis' face. Ugh. Leering made her skin crawl. She wished he wouldn't do it.

_Not a fixer-upper, Zoey_, Bill's words spoke up at the back of her mind.

Francis' hand shot up and grabbed her ankle before she was ready and she wobbled, squealing and waving her arms wildly to keep balance. She hopped around on her free leg a bit in the slim hope that she wouldn't fall over.

"Francis!" she shouted in protest, "Stop, I'm gonna fall!"

Laughing at her distress, he let go of her ankle and sat up with a groan, standing a moment later and stretching his back out. It cracked and popped loudly and he shook himself out, watching her with a rather mischievous expression of his own.

"Jerk."

"All right, if you got time t'horse around, you got time to haul ass," Bill said, "We're gonna push hard, you read me?"

"Loud and clear," Zoey said attentively, cheeks flushing slightly at the veteran's irate tone. She understood it entirely. They were in pretty deep, here, and she was out of line trying to lighten the mood. Focus was what they needed right now, not jackassery.

"Eyes and ears open," he lectured, putting a hand on the door, "Conserve ammo. And for god's sake, keep _quiet_."

"Where are we, exactly?" Zoey asked. She thought she could make out infected shambling around down the hall, but it could be the shadows playing tricks on her. Zoey was going to pretend his last statement had been addressed to all of them and not just her, as well. _ Ergh_.

"Offices attached to the train yard, looks like," Bill said, "We'll make our way through, down to the tracks."

"Doesn't sound too bad," Louis said, "All we gotta do is follow the tracks to this farmhouse, right?"

"We'll see," the veteran said, "Let's check it out. If the military abandoned this place, it would've been for a reason."

Zoey thought it was a poor sign when the infected in the next office over came screaming at them the moment they stepped out into the hallway. If it was nothing but solid walls of infected all the way to the farmhouse, there was _no_ way they had enough ammunition outlast it. She kept that to herself, certain it wasn't an original thought.

"Down this way," Bill said nodding for the stairwell, "Don't look like there's anything up here but zombies."

They made their way down cautiously, and Louis closed the door behind them. Violent as they were, the infected seemed to be somewhat out of sight, out of mind if things were quiet. No sense getting mobbed from behind if it was preventable.

The floor below was something of a mess, boxes and trash piled in the stairwell, and Zoey wondered if that's how they'd been keeping the saferoom relatively clean – chucking the trash out with the zombies. It made sense, she supposed, but it was an object of amusement to her that your average zombie probably had a minuscule carbon footprint compared to the average person.

Did that sort of stuff really _matter_ anymore? Hell, if the polar ice caps melted, maybe all the zombies would drown. That'd be an improvement.

"Lotta uniformed zombies in here," Louis frowned as they stepped into the lower offices.

Bill nodded and said, "Must've abandoned it when they had an outbreak. Poor bastards."

"Yeah, poor _them_," Francis said snidely.

"They were riskin' their necks to get people out, Francis," the veteran scolded, "You don't end up a zombie all the way out here because you're hidin'."

Francis shrugged and frowned, deciding not to address his scolding.

They moved out of the hall and into one of the offices. It was trashed, computers and files and furniture littered haphazardly, and one of the windows looking down into a large warehouse was broken out.

Francis moved over to it, putting a boot on the edge to brace himself before leaning forward to peek down at the ground floor.

"Don't_ lean out_ you big idiot," Bill snapped at him, "You want one a' them smoker things to get yah?"

"I'm fine, quit fussin'," Francis said, "I don't see a way down on this side... looks like there's a walkway out in the next room, uh, sorta. Layout is a bit fucked up."

"Zombies?" Louis asked.

"I don't see any from here," Francis said, "Might be hidin' behind all the damn junk down there though."

"Let's go before they come back, then," Bill said, retreating from the room and moving to the next one over. It looked to be under renovation, the drywall uncovered and the concrete floor bare, "Watch your eyes, people."

The veteran broken out a window with the butt of his rifle and scraped at the shards that clung to the frame. They waited a few tense minutes, but the sound didn't bring any zombies swarming.

"Maybe they're all still out in the woods," Louis said, sounding hopeful. His actual expression told a different story. Maybe they were still out in the woods, but they were still _out _there. _Anything_ could attract their attention now, especially when they had been so recently riled up.

"Some kinda last stand here," Francis commented as he peered over the walkway. There were corpses in groups behind the train cars, equal parts military and civilian, "Hey, they got guns."

"We shouldn't waste too much time pickin' through corpses," Bill frowned, "Not if we can keep movin'."

"If we're gonna keep runnin' inta' swarms of zombies, it'd be worth the stop."

"Let's see how the hell we're gonna get outta here, first," Bill said, "Down this way."

They shuffled down a beam leading off of the catwalk and towards an open door. Through it was a small room stacked with crates, a first aid station, and another door.

_EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY_, the door said, _ALARM WILL SOUND_.

"You gotta be fuckin' _kidding_ me," Francis said.

Bill was silent and lit a cigarette, glaring at the door.

"All right," he said once he'd taken a solid drag, "We need a plan. Gotta be shit we can use in th'warehouse to help."

"We could build a barricade to slow them down I guess," Zoey said, "Or just... just stay in this room so they can't all come in at once. The walls here are thicker than they were back at the visitor center."

Her voice was distinctly lacking in confidence. Zombies here and there she could _almost _get used too, but the swarming she didn't think she'd _ever _be ho-hum about. There was something ferocious and primal about it, but at the same time, it seemed completely inhuman. It was something _insects_ did, not _people_.

"Whatever we need t'do t'_not _end up like the jackasses out there," Francis said, jerking his head behind them, "I'm all for."

"Go see if you can find pistol rounds until we need you t'move heavy things, Francis," Bill said, blowing out a cloud of smoke. His patience with the biker seemed to be relatively short, Zoey noticed. Bill headed back into the warehouse and the biker tromped off without argument. Were they having some sort of silent man-fight?

"Too bad we can't just pull a traincar in the doorway," the veteran muttered, "Not much 'round here but desks n'shelves."

"What about... remember when we were still in the city and Francis threw that gascan out at the infected?" Louis asked, "We got some Molotov's left. Maybe throw one out each door and hope it holds em' off."

"Simple idea," Bill said. He looked wary.

"Best kind, aren't they?" Louis said, "If all else fails we still got two pipe bombs left."

"If all else fails we're gonna be zombie chow," the veteran observed, "Really aren't any better spots t'hold out down here, though. Too much open floor."

"Well, we should at least block this door up a bit," Louis insisted, testing a shelving unit against the wall, "Damnit, they're bolted down."

Bill smiled humorlessly and Zoey leaned against the door frame of the small room, looking down at her shoes. So their plan was '_sit still and hope the zombies burned to death_'. That wasn't terribly encouraging.

Maybe no zombies would come. Or maybe they'd come from far away, and they'd be well away from the alarm before they rushed in. This could be the comedic tense moment. A cat would come out of nowhere, scaring the shit out of them, and they would all share nervous laughter and slap each other on the back. _That darn cat!_

They were _long_ overdue for a cat scare, in her opinion.

So far, though, her opinion didn't seem to matter to much to life. Life was a_ terrible_ director. It had no sense of pacing or style _what_soever.

Zoey looked up and straightened when she heard heavy boots clomping towards them. He had looked almost pleasant back in the safehouse, but now he was wearing one of his usual scowls that brought out the deep lines in his face.

"Not much left," Francis said, "What's the plan?"

"Stand in this room and trigger the alarm," Bill said, gesturing to the room in question, "Throw a Molotov out either door and hope for the best."

"That's a pretty shit plan," Francis scowled.

"Got a better one?"

"Not really," he admitted, shrugging, carefully undoing the makeshift cap of the Molotov he had and stuffing a rag into it, "We doin' this?"

"Let's get ready," Bill said, "Get these boxes in front, we'll make a barrier."

Tension built as they stacked up their makeshift barrier. Francis stood in one door, ready to throw his cocktail, and Louis was at the other, hand tight on the handle of the emergency exit. Zoey didn't like the plan the more she thought about it. They weren't really giving this enough thought. Was it worth pushing themselves so hard if they were going to cock something up and die anyway?

"We ready?" Louis asked, Molotov gripped in his free hand.

"Nope," Bill said, bracing his rifle and crouched down, "Zoey, back to the wall."

She obeyed and shrank back, understanding his concern. If the mobs of infected could knock any of _them_ over,_ she'd_ be off her feet even quicker. There was barely enough room for all of them to stand shoulder to shoulder.

"Here we go," Louis whispered. He hesitated a few seconds, twisted the handle, and pushed the door open. The alarm began to blare the instant it swung open and he twitched in the doorway, giving out a shout of alarm and throwing the glass bottle out before diving behind the flimsy barricade. Francis did the same.

"Holy _shit_, there's a _fuckton _of em'!" Francis said, nearly tripping over himself as he backpedaled for their flimsy barrier.

The howling drew close quickly, coupled with the pounding of feet against concrete. Like before, the infected seemed to have no concept of fire, sprinting directly into it to get to the source of the noise.

Unlike before, however, they were in an enclosed room, and the infected that staggered inside were _still on fire_, stumbling on top of each other or onto their _very_ flammable cardboard barricade.

"Aw, hell," Francis swore, kicking a body away and sending a few boxes along with it, "Jesus Christ, I think they smell _worse_ on fire!"

"Shh," Zoey said, tilting her head.

"Don't _shush_ me," the biker growled, "If I burn tah death cause a' this plan I'm gonna be _pissed._"

"_Shhhh_," she insisted, eyes widening. It wasn't an entirely familiar sound, a bit like metal sheets flexing, but what would be...?

Zoey snapped her eyes up just as infected began to fall from the large vent overhead, decidedly _not_ on fire.

"What the hell!?" Louis exclaimed. He brought his gun up but froze. Opening fire in such a cramped space, with everyone on top of each other, was a really bad idea, "Shit! Back up, guys!"

Both exits were crowded with burning corpses, not to mention blocked off by puddles of burning gasoline. They had boxed_ themselves_ in.

"Get to the back wall!" Bill shouted, shoving a zombie roughly away, "Don't shoot until we're all -_ergh!_ - outta line of fire!"

"How did they get into vents!?" Francis demanded, "God_dammit!_"

The air was thick with black smoke now, the infected corpses burning rather well, and Zoey found that it was hard to focus on anything with her eyes watering so much. They were all coughing, crouching down, trying not to breathe in the smoke and fend off the wilier zombies at the same time.

Close quarters worked well in the infected's favor – they risked shooting each other or having bullets ricochet if they fired, and so they were reduced to shoving and wrestling the zombies away into their burning fellows to combat them.

"Gotta get out of this room," Bill gagged, "Or we're gonna," he paused to cough, "Suffocate."

"I got an idea, guys, let's set the fuckin' zombies _on fire_," Francis hissed under his breath, standing directly under the vent a moment. When nothing leapt down on top of him he moved forward and started kicking at burning corpses with one arm over his mouth and nose, cringing as he stirred up hot ash. Zoey winced, but it was Bill who voiced her concern.

"Careful, Francis," Bill cautioned, keeping an eye on the vent. The flow of infected had slowed down, but they were all coughing raggedly now.

"S'clearer out here," Francis said hoarsely, stepping fully out of the room, "Just uh, don't catch on fire."

Bill followed him, and Louis motioned for Zoey to go before him, keeping a sharp eye on the vent. She did her best to hop over the charred pile of corpses, but coughing violently was making it hard to do anything more than shamble in any direction.

Zoey leaned against the far wall and sucked in air. It was still smokey and stale out here, but at least the smoke had a much higher ceiling to cling too. Despite the fact that they'd probably come close to killing themselves, it had worked rather well in her opinion. Sure, now they were all sooty and couldn't breathe, but the alarm (_when had it wound down? she hadn't even been paying attention to it_) had to of drawn most of the zombies in the area to it. Smooth sailing from here on out. Yep.

"Everyone all right?" Bill asked between hacking coughs, "Sound off."

"Hm'okay," Zoey managed through a wheezy cough. She felt light headed, and from experience, she knew that meant she wasn't getting enough oxygen. Wow, she was having all _kinds_ of brilliant moments tonight.

"I'll live," Louis said.

Francis answered Bill by giving him the finger, but the veteran didn't respond.

They were definitely having a man-fight. When had they had a chance to actually get mad at each other, though? They'd only been in each other's pockets the entire time, especially since they'd left the van.

It was probably nothing, but distracting herself from the fact that they'd come pretty close to setting themselves on fire was pretty high on her list of priorities.

"Let's keep movin," Bill said, looking up at the catwalk overhead, noting the large windows, "Gotta be a door out onto the tracks around here. Let's find it."

Zoey thought they made quite a rag tag bunch as they shuffled their slightly crispy butts around the second warehouse. It was some sort of cleaning facility, dominated by large cisterns, and it was decidedly_ lacking_ in corpses. She honestly couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing.

_Whatever_ had happened, the people in the warehouse hadn't even gotten to the emergency exit. Surely a horde wasn't enough to trample military personnel if the four of _them_ could handle it.

Then again... they'd nearly burned themselves alive. Nobody was perfect.

"There," Louis said, pointing, "That looks like it leads outside."

"Let's catch our breath first," Bill suggested, sitting on some nearby stairs.

"Time for a smoke?" Zoey wondered with a smirk. He smirked back and swatted at her affectionately.

"Smartass."

Her smirk cracked into a smile, though it faded when she caught Francis glaring daggers at Bill. Oh _god_ it was going to make her crazy if she didn't find out what their issues was. It had to of cropped up in the safehouse, but what had really happened? Had Bill started giving Francis the looks he usually gave _her_ when he thought she was up to no good?

Because it was _completely_ important to know, while they were making a break for an evac zone, the exact effect her _stupid_ flirting had on the men around her, right? _Ugh_.

"We'll ask around when we get there," Louis said. Francis laughed bitterly at that, trailing off into a coughing fit.

Bill got to his feet and they all straightened up automatically. Francis even swallowed his coughs, eyes watering with the effort, and the veteran cautiously opened the door out onto the tracks. Immediately in front of them were some train cars, but further down the tunnel they were piled up and turned over.

From where they were standing, it was clear of infected.

"Oh, a dark tunnel," Zoey said grimly, breathing in the much fresher air, "That's not ominous at _all_."

"How come they're turned over like that?" Louis asked warily. His eyes kept darting to different train cars, hands twisting around his uzi.

"Who knows?" Bill said sharply, "Don't worry needlessly. We're supposed t'follow the tracks, and the tracks go _that _way," he pointed down the tunnel, "So let's _go_."

They made their way down the tunnel slowly, and though it was a bit silly, Zoey was felt that they were very literally walking in the belly of the beast. The lighting in the tunnel was intermittent at best, and every train car they darted around made her heart leap into her throat.

"Something went_ bad_ down here," Zoey said warily. The level of destruction was... well. She had tried her best to not think about what they'd run into at the Walmart, but one of those_ things_ could have easily mashed the train cars around like they were toys. The thought that it hadn't been unique was a rather upsetting one.

"Just keep movin'," Bill said. His voice was tense, and she wondered if he was thinking the exact same thing. The Walmart parking lot had been completely deserted when they'd stumbled into the giant monster. In such a narrow corridor, their luck might not hold out quite as well as it had last time.

Stopping for a breather after climbing over a car blocking the entire tunnel ended up being necessary, and so they all slumped against it, breathing still labored. They all did their best to muffle their coughs, not wanting them to echo sharply in the tunnel, but so far all their caution and nerves seemed to be for nothing so far.

The tunnel was empty.

"How far do you think the tunnel goes?" Louis wondered, staring down the long dark passage. From where they were sitting they could see another obstacle in the flickering light.

"We're gonna find out," Bill said, hauling himself to his feet, "Move out."

There was a smattering of whines and groans, but nobody outright protested, eyes fixed on the next car in the way. Over the next car was clear, and not far from it they could see that a large hole had been knocked in the wall. There had obviously been a door there somewhere, but _something_ had seen fit to widen the hole.

"_Not_ likin' this," Francis said tightly as they approached. Stepping into the rubble filled hall, however, proved out – there was a safehouse at the end. Deciding not to wait around guessing at what had bashed a hole through a few feet of solid concrete, they barricaded themselves in the safehouse and sat down on the benches inside.

It was a locker room, Zoey noticed after a bit, and there was decidedly less evidence that people had been through. _Not_ a good sign. Someone had been through and scribbled '_ECHO_' on the white board, but that was it. What would they find at the next safehouse? Would there even_ be_ a next one?

"You really think we're gonna make it to that farm in one night?" Louis wondered. He was the only one who was sounding less winded, "That smoke fucked us up pretty good."

"Longer we wait, the bigger chance there is we get left behind," Bill said grimly.

"We gotta stay frosty, though, right?" Louis said, "I don't think we should stay here, I mean, we still got a lot of time before dawn, but maybe at the next safehouse we should stop for a breather."

"We'll see," the veteran scowled, "Can't shake the feelin' that every second off our feet is diggin' our hole deeper."

"If one of those bigass zombies jumps us while we're all raggedy-" the businessman began. Bill cut him off with a curt gesture.

"I wasn't born yesterday, Louis," he snapped, "I _know_. But the game has _changed_ now, damn it. We're on borrowed time. Eventually it won't be worth wadin' inta zombies just to extract stragglers, and you can bet they'll shoot_ anythin'_ movin' that comes within a damn mile of the base."

Francis seemed uninterested in their conversation, interrupting them by peeling off the crinkly wrapper of an energy bar, scowling at the taste of it.

"Think they'll have decent food at the base?" the biker wondered.

"If it's anything like it was when I was in the army, no," Bill said, still prickly, though couldn't tell if it was just in general, or because of whatever issue he had with Francis.

Zoey, personally, didn't know how anyone could even _think_ of eating right now. Her stomach had twisted up into about ten knots and hadn't had time to untwist yet.

Bill didn't wait long after everyone finally stopping hacking up their lungs to prod them onwards. When they emerged from the safehouse, they found themselves underground, possibly a service area for... something.

"This better go through," Francis said, scowling at the dank surroundings, "Back trackin' ain't really in the game plan."

"The safehouses seem to be following a path," Louis insisted, "I got a good feeling. This way, the light's are workin' along this side."

He lead them off to the left and pointed triumphantly down the narrow tunnel and Bill gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"So far, so good," Bill said, "Let's see if it leads back onta' th'tracks."

Infected seemed to be in short supply, only a few shambling around the narrow corridor, and when they exited what Bill guessed out loud was a utility basement, the trend continued. There were no train tracks to greet them, however – just another forest path.

"Well, _fuck_," Francis said, looking down at Bill, "What's the plan General? We goin' back?"

Bill didn't answer right away, squinting down the path, thinking hard about their next move.

"We just came outta a locker room that was in a basement a'some kind," he reasoned out loud, pointing down the path, "Worth checkin' if there're more maintenance facilities. Might bring us closer to the tracks, too."

"Wouldn't it waste less time if we just made our way over the blockage?" Louis asked even as he followed Bill out onto the path.

"I'd rather waste some time checkin' this out than find out a big goddamn monster made that tunnel its house," he said, "Keep your eyes peeled."

Louis glanced at Zoey a few times, and she wondered why until she realized she'd barely spoken a word since their flaming zombie encounter. She offered him a small smile and shook her head a little, trying to signal that she was fine. There just... there wasn't a lot of _room_ for chatter right now, not while Bill was in flat out commando mode. He even seemed to be walking faster than usual, eyes sharp, never holding still for more than a moment. Despite his desire to be evacuated, she felt like he was in his element.

He'd mentioned having dead end jobs and living on his own some time ago, and she found herself suddenly curious. Had he ever married? He never mentioned it, or having children, or anything most people she classed as 'old' tended to go on about. Though she assumed what had happened in Vietnam had changed him, touched him deeply, had it really kept him a bitter and lonely old man?

They were lucky to have him along. If it weren't for Bill, Zoey was convinced not a single one of them would still be alive, dragging their asses along some creepy, ill-lit path scattered with infected.

And what about Louis? He was a bit more talkative than Bill but she still hardly knew anything about him. Louis was a good shot and he got a fair amount of her jokes, but how did a businessman adjust to such a harsh change in circumstances so easily?

Herself... well. She'd pretty much been studying this topic all semester, hadn't she? This was her final exam, in a way. If she lived through to the end, whatever the end _was_, she passed. And if she didn't... well. Zoey supposed failing a survival horror test generally involved gory dismemberment.

She flicked a look sideways at Francis. He'd probably revealed the most about himself with off handed comments. A high school drop out biker ex-con who lived with his sick mother? What was the story _there?_ And had his life really been so bad that shooting zombies was an improvement?

When they got evaced, she was going to find out. Find out _everything_, about all three of them.

"Well lookit that," Bill said as they came up a hill, "Bet we'll find the tracks through there."

Sure enough, there was another ugly concrete building in front of them, a rusty sign announcing it as the property of Richardson Atlantic.

"Let's get the fuck in there, then," Francis said, looking over his shoulder warily, "I don't like bein' out here like this. Feels like we're bein' _watched_."

His statement seemed to inspire paranoia in all of them, and they piled into the building quickly. Inside was ill-lit, and the deep shadows of the corridors and corners didn't do much to allay the feeling that of being watched. God, weren't there _enough_ horrible zombies after them? If she ran into a giant eyeball zombie she'd lose her shit _completely_.

"Should we check down there?" Francis wondered, pointing his flashlight down a long, unlit corridor.

"For _what?_" Bill snapped at him.

"I dunno, fuckin'.... _stuff!_" the biker snarled back. The two of them locked eyes, and for a second, Zoey was sure that the biker was going to take a swing at Bill. Louis noticed it too and looked at her, imploring. She could only shrug at him.

Francis' heavy jaw ticked, leather gloves creaking as he throttled his flashlight, but something made him back down and he shifted his eyes away from the Bill's steely stare.

"Let's keep goin'," Bill said, a challenging tone in his voice.

"Yes, _sir_," Francis seethed.

The veteran practically threw the door open, Francis directly on his heels, and Louis hung back a moment as the two of them stalked out onto the tracks. Zoey was glad they were going the right way, but...

"What'd I miss?" Louis whispered.

"I don't know!" she hissed back, "Maybe they're cracking under pressure or something."

"I'd pick myself to be the first to do that," Louis said, keeping his voice soft as the two of them crept up to the door. He waved at her to stop, though, and they could hear arguing just outside.

"...s your fuckin' _problem_, Bill?" Francis rumbled, failing gloriously at keeping his voice quiet.

"Stop eyein' that kid like she's a prime rib," Bill warned, "We talked about this _before_."

Zoey couldn't help but turn bright red. They were having a fight, in the middle of the zombie gauntlet, about_ her_. God that was_ so_ embarrassing. She wouldn't even look at Louis.

"_Fuck _you, Bill," the biker said aggressively, "You_ ain't_ my old man. I don't gotta take yer word as gospel!"

"Don't test me,_ boy_," Bill said. His tone made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It must've cowed Francis some, too. The next time he spoke, there was decidedly less testosterone in his voice.

"I ain't... Bill, it ain't_ like_ that a'right?" Francis insisted, "I just... hey!"

Louis and Zoey both jumped. The jig was up.

"Get your asses out here. We found the tracks," the biker grunted.

Zoey couldn't bring herself to look at anyone. She'd never been so humiliated by her own behavior in her life, but at the same time, she felt like it wasn't _entirely_ her fault. Bill was making a mountain out of a molehill for a reason she couldn't quite wrap her brain around, but she had guilt, and his disapproval was compounding it, and now none of it made an _ounce_ of sense to her.

Everyone was game to let the matter rest for now, anyway, and Zoey decided that instead of feeling confused and stupid, she would enjoy the fresh air. There weren't any overturned cars here, but there were a fair few infected shambling around.

"Shit," Bill announced when they started to approach a small house along the tracks, "Look up there."

He pointed up at a bridge and Zoey felt like screaming. Just in view, spray painted to a sign on the bridge above, was a safehouse symbol. They'd gone the wrong way.

"Aw, you're shittin' me," Francis said, running a hand over the top of his head, "How'd we fuck _that_ up?"

"Must be a ladder or some other way up around here," Bill insisted, jerking a thumb behind him, "I guarantee yah that we'd be in the same spot if we climbed over that rubble. Spread out a little – not_ too_ damn far – and have a look."

Their spread, Zoey thought, was somewhat comical. They managed to maintain a perfect square from each other, checking each other's positions more than looking for an actual way up. Occasionally one of them would shoot a charging infected, the pistol fire making all of them wince in unison.

"Hey," Francis called out, pointing down the track, "What if we just detached one a' these cars and took the bridge out? Maybe we could climb up then."

"That'd make a hell of a lot of noise," Bill frowned.

"Safehouse is just up there," he insisted, "We could run for it."

"What if it just destroys the bridge?" Louis asked, "Then we'd be _double_ screwed."

"At least we wouldn't be on fuckin' _fire_," the biker needled.

"It's a plan," Zoey insisted, "What are our other options? Keep walking around aimlessly until we find the exact path the military took?"

She surprised herself with the testy edge in her voice, but kept her chin angled up defiantly.

Bill was silent for a long time before finally letting out a growl and making a curt gesture, "Go decouple the car, Francis. If this works..."

"If this works," the biker said, cutting him off, "You owe me like a _million_ beers."

"I'll start the first post-apocalypse brewery just tah fill the order," Bill smirked. Francis let out a short laughed and punched Bill in the shoulder.

"Get the fuck offa me," the veteran said.

Zoey's brow creased deeply. And men said _women _were confusing? Were they _friends_ again!?

Goddammit, they were_ both_ getting it in the safehouse. She'd just about twisted herself up into a Gordian knot worrying that she'd somehow compromised their... _operation_ or whatever the hell.

Francis jogged off.

"Back behind here," Bill said, pausing to shoot an infected that had been winding up to fling itself at them, "Behind this car."

"Should we just let him run off by himself?" Zoey asked, peering around the car in spite of Bill's directions, watching Francis jog up to the train cars, "What if something gets him?"

"We'll have bigger things to worry about in a second," Bill assured her, even as he crept forward to peer around the car with her.

Francis came to a stop when he reached the end car and turned around, waving to them. Bill waved back, and the biker grabbed the handle. He yanked on it a few times before it started to turn, letting out a short yell that even they could hear as he finally shifted it into place.

The car started to roll back down the incline slowly at first, and Zoey was already starting to think of a good physics joke to nail Francis with when it started to pick up more and more speed, the wheels rattling and sparking along the track.

Bill pulled her back behind the car as the loose one sailed past them. It hit the bridges support at full speed and continued on through it, slamming into some of the cars further down the track. There was a loud groaning and a thunderous crash as what Zoey assumed to be a section of the bridge crashed down.

As the dust settled, a loud '_Hell yeah!_" from Francis told them that his plan had worked. Maybe he'd need help drinking his million beers. Was it possible to trade some in for wine coolers?

They came out from behind their cover, and Zoey marveled at the carnage a moment before the howling kicked up. The sound filled her with an immediate loathing and she gestured frantically to the biker even as he jogged his way back to them.

"We gotta move!" Bill shouted, "Before they're on us! Double time!"

Zoey looked frantically back and forth down the track, and in front of them even. The howling seemed to be coming from _everywhere_, but she still didn't see _any_ through the trees and darkness. God, what if they were all around the _safehouse?_ She couldn't even see it from where they were, though the path up top seemed to veer off to the right.

"Oh shit," Louis exclaimed, "_Behind us!_"

Zoey looked up. Where the bridge used to be attached was where the infected were charging from. Some of them sailed right off of the sharp drop, legs shattering on impact. Other scaled down, and some of the tougher ones hit the ground solidly and kept sprinting.

"_Not_ today, assholes!" Francis cackled, bringing up the rear and firing at the zombies that made it to the collapsed section of bridge.

"Keep up, Francis," Bill said, already at the top of the incline, "I can see the safehouse from here!"

Zoey looked down the path that Bill was pointing and could practically feel the blood drain from her face as a swarm of infected burst out around it.

"Shit, behind us too!" Louis piped up almost at that exact moment and she whirled. There were even more swelling over the ridge to their left, darting around the trees like they were on some sort of maniacal obstacle course.

They were going to be hit from all sides by a tidal wave of infected within sight of a safehouse.

"Pipe bomb!" Bill shouted hoarsely. Time seemed to slow as Bill hurled one down the way they'd come. It spun end over end, the red light flashing, the little fire alarm whirring and beeping, and for a second Zoey was convinced the infected were going to ignore it in favor of their momentum. They were surrounded on all sides by flailing limbs and gnashing, frothing mouths, and she didn't even realize she was off of her feet until she could see them running over her, stampeding past her, _on_ her-

"_Ups_adaisy," Francis grunted, standing over her and grabbing her wrist to yank her back onto her feet, "Just like a mosh pit, kid. I'll safety for yah. Hang onta my belt."

Still dazed from being knocked down (_Francis knew what a mosh pit was_), Zoey wrapped both hands around his belt and let him break the wave of zombies for her, stumbling after him like she was blind.

"Gotta move faster!" Bill said, almost shrill, "That ain't gonna hold em long! Jesus, where'd they all _come _from!?"

"Throw the other one!" Louis said, "There's more up ahead! Fuck_ me!_"

Bill looked torn. It was their last one, and they weren't even past the train tracks yet... but there were more infected bunched up here than at the tracks, and the solid kaboom that had just gone off meant they'd be turning back to the four of them.

They wouldn't make it to the farm if they were dead.

"Suck on this you zombie bastards!" Bill snarled, throwing their last pipe bomb out into the fray. They seemed to pour out of every crevice of the forest and rocks, clawing at each other to be the first to get to the noise, to make the noise stop, to tear it to tiny pieces so they could have whatever horrible peace the virus lulled them into.

Zoey stumbled to her knees when she was shoved rather unceremoniously into the safehouse, and for a few minutes, she thought she might puke. She wasn't even sure _why_. Maybe the fact that she'd nearly been _trampled_ to death by zombies? That there had been so many of them the smell had been unbearable? That she'd felt their dry skin rasping over hers, had their foamy saliva flecking onto her face as they streaked past?

"This place gonna hold?" she vaguely heard Francis asking, "Shit, you okay Louis?"

"Yeah it ain't bad, one of em' just took a swing at me," Louis muttered, "Does it look bad?"

"Looks like it fuckin' _stings_ man."

"Just everyone keep quiet and if we're lucky they'll wander off," Bill said, "She okay?"

There was a short silence.

"I'll check...?" Francis said, uncertain.

"You oughta," was Bill's quiet response.

She jumped when she felt a hand on her back, swallowing hard and squeezing her eyes shut.

"Anythin' broke?" Francis asked her, crouching down next to her, "Sit up, lemme have a look."

"M'okay," Zoey insisted, her breath still short, "Just... just shook up. Some... they _stepped _on me."

"Ribs broke?" the biker asked. She saw him reach a hand out and then draw it back, "Give yerself a once over, Zoey. I know you're freaked but we're safe now."

She swallowed a few more times and shakily sat up, gingerly pressing her fingers around her midsection. Zoey winced a few times, but nothing caused her any sharp, terrible pain.

"Just bruised," she muttered, "God I hate how they... how they _do_ that. It's so _fucked up_."

"Hey, Zoey, it's all right," he said. Francis was in front of her now, rubbing her arms up and down, and she realized she was shaking, "Don't freak out now."

She felt a sudden, harsh pang of bitter anger then. Why should she feel _guilty_ about focusing on the little nuances in their group? If she had a choice between daydreaming about people fighting over her and running for her _goddamn life _she'd take daydreaming. So _what _if she was eighteen? She'd barely lived her life. She still had a lot of stupid, dumb, _ridiculous_ crap to experience, still had a _trillion_ life lessons to get smacked in the face with. It wasn't fair that she had to put all of that on hold because zombies were trying to murder her.

These were the years she was supposed to fuck up, and focus on stupid things instead of important ones, and the only consequences were maybe less money from her father and a long lecture. That all the consequences of screwing up now were now met with _death_ was...

"This is so _stupid_," she seethed. Francis blinked at her and quickly took his hands off her shoulders, as though he'd accidentally flipped the wrong switch.

"What you mean, Zoey?" Louis prompted. He was dabbing his face with his tie. A zombie had dug its nails into his cheek, leaving long, ragged scratches behind.

"I should be on the phone with my dad begging him not to cut my allowance right now," Zoey said. She wasn't tearing up, her voice steady – she was just _pissed off,_ "Not... not having to _punch_ my way through crazy zombies that want to hug a blinky red light!"

"I should be making passive-aggressive Photoshops of my boss in my office," Louis said, going along with what she'd started, watching her carefully.

Bill, who had lit a smoke, decided to chime in with, "I should be sittin' on a couch in my underwear wonderin' if I should bother with dinner or just go t'bed."

"I should be stumblin' back inta my mom's apartment," Francis mused, "Tryin' real hard to pay attention t'what she's yellin' at me instead a' passin' out face down on the couch."

A thin smile twitched onto her face. People often bemoaned having boring, dull, _mundane_ lives. She'd give almost anything to get her boring life back.

"At least we thinned them out a bit," Zoey added after a long silence, rubbing her face. She grimaced when she noticed she was just smearing soot and sweat around. They were all _filthy_ again, "How much further do we have to go?"

"Everyone still got some juice in em'?" Bill asked.

"How long until dawn?" Louis wondered, realizing he had a watch of his own after a moment and looking down at it, "Shit, it's only three a. m.?"

"We started out earlier than usual," Bill said, "So, everyone game to keep goin'?"

"Give the mob time t'settle," Francis said, leaning up against the wall of the shed, "We ain't got anymore tricks up our sleeve."

"We've got a Molotov," Zoey said.

"Yeah, we've had pretty good luck with those," the biker smirked.

"Fifteen minutes," Bill said, "Then we're goin'."

Zoey spent her fifteen minutes as irresponsibly as she could manage, trying to frame their last few ordeals. Maybe she'd punch the movie version of their adventure up a bit. There definitely needed to be more jokes while they were in mortal danger. Nobody had even made any fire puns back in the warehouse, which was something of a tragedy, and Francis had even set her up for a mosh pit joke not too long ago.

The audience had to frothing by now, nerves worn thin by all their near misses and lack of witty banter. They'd have to really outdo themselves in the finale. She still couldn't tell what the ending was going to be, and it was gnawing at her. Zoey prided herself on predicting the end of a movie ten minutes in.

Would they get a twist ending? Maybe the military would show up and turn them all into super soldiers, or it would all just be a dream. She was personally hoping for the inspirational ending, where the army showed up just in the nick of time, guns blazing, and they all rolled out unharmed.

Anything but the ending she (_used_) liked the most.

The ending where everyone died spectacularly.


	10. The End

"Times up," Bill said. They all rose to their feet, and a chill ran down her spine as the grim expressions surrounding her. Something had _changed _in fifteen minutes. There wouldn't be any petty squabbling from here on out.

If that horde they'd narrowly avoided was any hint of what was between them and the farmhouse, they'd need every ounce of focus.

Zoey checked her pistols and nodded at Bill, promising herself that she'd be insufferably immature if they made it through this, to make up for lost time.

They moved out of the shed as one, a well oiled machine. No bullets strayed, nobody fell out of step, and nobody chattered.

"Barn," Louis observed as they made their way along the overgrown path.

"Forget it," Bill said, "Let's see if we end up at the tracks again."

They slid past the barn cautiously. A terrible smell was wafting out of it, and as they came around the broad side of it, the piles of bloated cattle definitely seemed to be the source of the stink. For some bizarre reason, the flesh had been stripped off of their faces.

Nobody commented.

Further down the path they came to a cliff, though handily, there was a traincar even with it that they used to climb down.

"Coulda just kept movin' down the tracks," Bill muttered.

"You kiddin'?" Francis protested as they prowled down the tracks, eyeing the gloomy buildings warily, "You remember all those goddamn zombies back there? They were probably all_ here_. We just took a shortcut."

"Guys, I don't mean to scare you, but I think Francis is right," Louis said. A low chuckle rolled through them, but it was short, crisp, almost _obligatory_. Their thoughts were focusing sharply on the pile up of train cars ahead of them.

"More mashed up cars," Louis said, "Think we can get around through that house?"

"Yep," Bill said, "Let's do it."

They eased around the rubble and down the stairs to the back door, opening it onto a bloodbath that Zoey was certain had never been captured in even the goriest B-movie. She actually turned away a moment, the sheer level of violence in the basement staggering.

Someone had made a hell of a last stand in a corner, firing up a lawn mower and letting the infected try to get past it and at him. Whatever had happened to the poor soul who'd done it, she was pretty sure they had died with full bad ass points.

"I woulda paid t'see this go down," Francis commented, nudging chunks of zombie with a boot.

"Maybe in slo-mo," Zoey said in spite of herself. Bill hushed them and started up the stairs. The entire inside of the house was trashed, and Zoey couldn't decide if it was from a previous struggle, or caused by the mass exodus of infected when they heard the train car hit the bridge not long ago.

"Down here," Bill said, leaning out a window and pointing, "Look, the tracks keep going. There's a lit train car at the end."

He knelt as the others crowded around behind him on the awning, peering through the scope of his rifle to get a better look.

"I'll be goddamned," he said, "It's a safehouse."

"Another one?" Louis said, "It's like we're back in the city again."

"Means a lot of folks have been through," Bill agreed, "Seems like a pretty goddamn good sign to me. I'll take it."

They hopped back onto the ground one at a time and jogged for the caboose. Every step on the bridge seemed like an opportunity for things to take a wrong turn, but soon enough they were packed into the train car like cattle and Francis was shutting the door behind him.

The interior was scrawled with graffiti, many of them final messages to loved ones they obviously hoped were close behind. How many of the authors were outside now, infected? She ran her fingers over one that touched her in particular, brow creased.

_Travis_

_Kids are fine_

_I love you_

_E_

When was the last time she'd seen a _kid?_ She'd tried not to think about it, especially after the rest stop, but whoever E was, she must've been all kinds of badass to make it _this _far with kids in tow.

Maybe they'd get to see them in the safe zone.

"The hell is all this Echo shit, anyway?" Francis asked, scowling at the opposite wall.

"Probably a code name," Bill said, peering out the far end of the caboose, "We're close now."

"How can yah be sure?"

"Lookit the writing, Francis," he said, "This was obviously a holdout fer people leggin' it to the evac zone. We're just at th' tail end."

"How bad is it?" Louis asked, coming up behind Bill.

"There're a few," Bill frowned, "But we got enough bullets to get there. Might be supplies at the outpost."

"If it's still there," Francis said warily, "Seems to me like everyone got turned into goddamn zombies."

"You gonna stay here, then, Francis?" Bill asked, eyeballing the biker. Francis steeled himself and shook his head.

"Just sayin'," he said, "We shouldn't get too excited."

"If nothin' else, it'll be a place to hold out for awhile to plan our next move," the veteran said., "Let's not spend to long thinkin' about it either way."

"I'm down with that," Louis said, absently touching the scratch on his cheek, "Get some more space between us and what's left of that horde back there."

They took a few minutes to get ready, checking ammo, downing the last of their bottled water, and trying not to wonder too much about the writing on the inside of the caboose. The comments about Riverside made her heart hurt. What if her parents would have some how made it if she'd insisted they go there instead?

_God, don't think about that _now, she scolded herself, _One thing at a time_.

"If shit goes down, we'll retreat back here, deal?" Bill said. He was met with three resolute nods, "All right then, people, let's _move!_"

Zoey followed after Bill in a low-slung jog, eyes everywhere but her feet. They knew better than to trip her up by now, and she'd come to trust them to take her where she needed to go. She tried not to think too positively about how the gravel they were crunching over looked well traveled, how there were so very few infected still loitering around the tracks. None in fatigues, either. At least none that she noticed.

"Holy shit, guys," Francis said as they jogged up to a red car that had been shoved up against a small cliff, "I think we're gonna _make_ it."

_CAUTION!,_ twin signs shouted out to them _YOU ARE NOW ENTERING A U.S. MILITARY EVACTUATION OUTPOST_.

"Oh my god," Zoey breathed. Her heart did a flip-flop, and in spite of everything, in spite of the fact that there was a zombie standing _very _ironically next to one of the signs, she pumped both fists into the air, "Oh my god, _YES!_"

She started laughing and hugged Louis, pinning one of his arms to his sides, making him laugh as well.

"Eh? Toldya we'd make it," Francis told Bill smugly, earning him a cuff on the back of the head. The biker suffered it with a broad grin.

"Okay, okay, let's not get too excited," Bill said, the cheer in his voice not terribly well concealed, "Let's not get cocky. We still gotta get there, right?"

"Right," Zoey said, "Let's hustle!"

She felt a renewed bounce in her step. Even though it was very late at night, everything seemed more vibrant, more _alive_. It was amazing, the magical properties hope had.

They were here. They'd _made _it.

The path wound around and they picked off zombies, laughing, joking, calling out 'Marco!' for the military to come and find them.

All her laughter and good cheer choked out of her the second they came up to the drop off that led straight into a corn field. She was vaguely aware of bright, angry warnings on the sign at the very edge, but she was too busy trying to convince herself that what she was seeing was real.

"What?" Francis asked her, "It's just corn. We're home free, check it out."

He pointed to the farmhouse that was barely visible in the distance. It wasn't so far away, really.

"Can you see a damn thing down there?" she asked pointedly, "In the corn rows?"

Francis' expression faltered and he looked at the others.

"It's_ just_ corn," Bill insisted, "C'mon, let's get to that farmhouse."

"Here, I'll help yah down," Francis offered, putting a hand out to her. She turned to face him, intent on shooting him an incredulous look. As if she couldn't make a small drop by hersel_what the fuck was that?_

"_LOOK OUT!_" she shouted just as a chunk of twisted metal came sailing at them. Zoey loathed that her first reaction was to fling herself down into the corn rows while the other's whirled to look. Why hadn't she at least tried to tug one of them down with her!? Before she had much more time to think about it, she had a face full of dirt, the corn glowering down at her.

There were cries of alarm and pain as Zoey struggled to get to her feet while they slid on the loose dirt, and she looked around wildly. All she could see was corn, _more _corn... she couldn't even see the edge of what she'd leapt off of.

"Run for the farmhouse!" she could hear Bill yelling, "Get- _yaugh!_"

"_Bill!_"

"Suck on_ this _you ugly motherfucker!" Francis hollered.

She heard glass shattering, and then she saw fire blossoming off to her left. They were over there. Francis had thrown a Molotov at the thing to distract it. It's bellow rang out into the dead night.

_Run, run to the farmhouse,_ her self preservation urged, _Run run run it's distracted, get away!_

She could hear Bill's rifle firing rapidly, Louis' machine gun whining, and the steady _thoom_ of a shotgun. They were fighting for their lives while she just sat in the dirt, paralyzed with fear.

Zoey heard growling off to her right and whipped her head around. She had a split second to recoil as she came face to face with something that had very, very sharp teeth. For a moment, for the few seconds before it was on top of her, tearing at her soft flesh, she was convinced it was _grinning_ at her.

She didn't even realize she was screaming at first, shoving ineffectively at the creature as it sat on top of her, pinning her down to the ground so it could gleefully glide its claws through her flesh and clothing. There was no rhyme or reason to its attacks – it was merely _shredding _her, enjoying it, reveling in her screams.

Thousands of things ran through her mind, her brain trying to someone distract from the pain that was searing through her body with each swipe_it's smiling it's smiling oh god it's aware of what it's doing zombies aren't allowed they aren't_ allowed_ to be aware!!_

"You little fuck!" someone shouted, "Get offa her!"

There was a loud noise (_what was it was it another thing_) and then the pain had stopped, but she kept screaming, kept fighting, terrified she was hallucinating, that her brain had given up and wanted her to succumb, but she _wouldn't!_ She would_ not_ stop fighting!

"Stop freakin' out Zoey this _ain't_ the best time!" Francis shouted at her, grabbing the sides of her head rather roughly and giving her a shake, "Lookit me! Hey!_ Look!_'

Zoey cringed and blinked her eyes open, sure she'd see the hunter's terrible rictus, its dead white eyes, her own blood splashed across its face.

Brown eyes were there instead, frame by a heavy brow and partnered with a concerned, worried frown.

"F-f-francis?" she chattered. Zoey stared at him, wide eyed, not even sure she could trust what she was seeing.

He looked relieved, and she barely noticed that he brushed his lips against her forehead (_"Thank fuckin' Christ," he muttered under his breath_) before helping her up, "C'mon, can you walk? Yeah, you can, come on, Louis drew that thing off and we gotta find Bill. _BILL!_ Scream 'r somethin'!"

"Over here!" a thin voice called back. A beam of light waggled out of the corn – Bill's flashlight.

Zoey leaned heavily on Francis as she walked, and noticed that he was limping.

"Where's Louis?" she asked in a daze, "Where did Louis go?"

"I dunno," he said, flicking an uncertain look at her, "Keep wavin' yer flashlight Bill, we're comin'!"

They found Bill near a tractor, where he'd apparently dragged himself. His teeth were grit, and cloth of the pants around his knee had gone dark with blood.

"Aw, _hell_, Bill," Francis said, concern creeping into his voice.

"It's just fucked up," the veteran said quickly, "Shrapnel from that scrap metal th'thing through. I'll be fine. Help me up. Where's Louis?"

"That's... Bill, that's a lot of blood," the biker said, bending down to help him up anyway.

"I'm fuckin fine," the veteran snapped, "I tied it off, see? Just gotta help me hobble around... Jeeezus _Christ_, what happened to_ you_, Zoey?"

"Hunter," Francis said with a dark scowl, "Got t'her just in time."

"Glad you got your priorities straight," Bill laughed weakly, "Should we head to the farmhouse?"

"Got nowhere else t'go," Francis said. Zoey propped up with one arm, Bill with the other, the biker made his way slowly through the corn and towards the farmhouse. He stopped when they reached the edge of the corn and goggled at what he was seeing.

Somehow Louis was on top of the barn, uzi aimed straight down at the tank. The tank was, in fact, still on fire, and its movements looked sluggish at best, swatting half heartedly at the bullets a few times before it slumped into the barn with a defeated groan.

"Yeah! _YEAH!_" Louis howled, throwing his arms up, "Don't fuck with ME! _Shit_ yeah!"

"Killin' those things is definitely hardcore," Francis said with great relief, "_LOUIS!_ Get your bad ass down here!"

"Oh, shit!" Louis exclaimed, squinting at them, "One second!"

He disappeared from view a moment and then came jogging out, hardly any worse for wear.

"Oh, man, you guys look fucked_ up_," he fussed, going to Zoey first.

"Hey," Francis said, startling the businessman into looking up at him again, "I got this one. You get the old guy."

Louis smirked at him and stepped around, putting a shoulder under one of Bill's arms and helping him along.

Both arms free, Francis scooped Zoey up with a grimace. Being flung off of a rise onto the hard earth hadn't been terribly kind to him, but he'd made out a lot better than Bill.

"I can walk," she said quietly.

"Ain't it manlier t'carry yah though?" he wondered, not waiting for her to answer and nodding at a sign near the front door, "Look."

"Outpost Echo, what'd I tell yah?" Bill said, doing his best to cover his winces as Louis helped him up the steps, "Let's see if there's a radio inside."

Louis and Bill were inside first, the former sitting the latter down on a tattered, worn out couch. The floorboards looked like they'd been tracked over by hundreds of shoes, and the feeling of hope started to creep back into her.

"This is an emergency broadcast from the U.S. Military," a radio laid out the kitchen table crackled, "Please respond. I repeat, this is an emergency broadcast from the American Safety Zone. Please respond if you are there."

"Go fer it," Francis said. Zoey wriggled a little, trying to get onto her feet, but Francis gave her a light squeeze and shook her head. She flushed a little, confused, but didn't argue.

Louis hovered over the radio a moment, reverent, and pressed the talkback button.

"Uh, this is... we are four immunes, here at outpost Echo," Louis said, speaking carefully and building confidence, "We need immediate evac and medical attention."

There was silence, and then a shocked, "Holy shit! Captain! We got somebody_ alive _out there!"

"Four immunes," Louis said, grimacing and adding, "Uhm, over."

"Don't worry about that, son," Bill said. His voice was strained and he looked pale in the dim light of the farmhouse, "They'll read yah."

"We read you _loud_ and _clear_, survivors!" the radio operator said. He sounded ecstatic, and Zoey was pretty sure it was a good sign, "We're scrambling an extraction team ASAP! You just sit tight and hang in there. There should be first aid and assault rifles upstairs."

"Assault rifles?" Bill said, looking upwards, as though he could somehow _smell_ them.

"How long?" Louis asked, "We're pretty messed up. Been hounded the whole damn way here."

"Ten minutes once the team heads out," the operator assured him, "You just need to hang in there and dig in. The engine of the APC is like a dinner bell for those things out there – they'll probably swarm. That whole area is a hotbed for the damned things."

"Aw, hell," Bill muttered. Zoey couldn't see him from her perch in Francis' arms, but she could hear his lighter flick a few times before he managed to light up.

"Roger that," Louis said, "Give us a few minutes to get ready, then?"

"You just give me a holler and I'll send em out!"

"Well ain't he _cheerful?_" Francis said, "Let's have a look upstairs."

Louis stepped away from the radio and went to help Bill up, and the four of them made their way upstairs. Zoey wondered if the people who'd owned this house were safe and sound, or if the army had found them shambling around and bumping into walls.

"In here," Louis called out from the main bedroom, "Six rifles."

"First aid in the bathroom," Francis called out, flipping down the toilet lid before setting her down on it. She shifted awkwardly (_he'd saved her, he'd kissed her back there, he smelled like burnt zombie_) as he grabbed a stack of kits and left the room a moment, presumably handing them off to Louis before he returned and picked up another, crouching down in front of her.

"Thanks, Francis," she said hoarsely, "For um, saving me."

"Now we're even," he said gently, "How bad it is? Yer bleedin' through yer shirt."

"I dunno," she admitted, gingerly unzipping the hoody and shrugging it off. All the movement strained the long cuts and she hissed, forcing herself not to squeak or whine in front of him.

"He got you good," Francis frowned, opening the first aid kit, "I ain't as good as Bill, but I've had to use one a'these fuckin kits more than once in my time."

He smirked at some distant memory and pulled out some gauze and disinfectant.

"Francis?" Zoey asked while he gingerly lifted up the edge of her shirt and dabbed at a deep scratch.

"Huh?" he grunted, laying a thick strip of gauze over the scratch and tearing off some tape with his teeth.

"What did Bill talk to you about?"

He didn't respond right away, regarding her warily, and finished one bandage before he cut off another strip of gauze.

"I think you prolly got the gist a' that conversation," Francis finally said, dressing another wound and clearing his throat, "I ain't gonna bullshit you, all right? I been starin' at yer ass for most of the trip, but... it ain't... ahhh,_ fuck_."

He grit his teeth and continued to tend to her scratches, and she could see him mentally kicking himself. Zoey felt a half smile twitch onto her face in spite of his bungling.

"I ain't good at this kinda shit," he said gruffly.

"Just be honest," she suggested, wincing as he cleaned out a deep scratch with antiseptic, "Don't bullshit me, like you said."

"Yer hot, and yer' smart, and I don't want nothin' bad t'happen t'ya," Francis said in a rush, not making eye contact with her as he spoke, "But I know that... Jesus Christ, I'm forty two years old. I feel like I'm gonna get arrested in a second."

Zoey was startled by his age. Not because it put them at a twenty-four year difference (_oh Jesus he was twenty-four years older than she was that was _so_ wrong_), but because it was a number she was very familiar with.

All this time she had been hanging around with the meaning of life, the universe, and everything. How apt was _that?_

"So, just... I mean, you can just get used t'me bein' kinda creepy around you, cause I can't fuckin' help myself," Francis continued to growl.

She reached out a hand then and touched the side of his face lightly, making him jerk away in surprise for a moment. Zoey thought he looked like an animal with his leg caught in a bear trap, and she slowly moved her hand back into place. She gently traced her fingers over his goatee and then back along a heavy cheekbone, tilting her head at him.

He swallowed hard and shifted uncomfortably.

It_ was_ kind of _wrong_. If he'd walked up to her in a bar or on the street not too long ago, she would probably call the police. Under normal circumstances, hell, even _ab_normal circumstances, she'd be wholly repulsed by the idea, largely because it wasn't the least bit romantic or fluffy or sparkly. Most of his motivations were, by his own admission, because he was physically attracted to her. She was a pert, sassy young thing who was clearly arrogant enough to assume she could handle a relationship with a much older man without it going down in flames.

Despite his whining and his chauvinism, though, he'd stuck by all of them. He'd thrown himself in harms way time and time again and hadn't let it get him down. He'd looked after her even though she'd treated him scornfully in return.

An unfixable fixer-upper.

"Francis?"

"Yeah?" he asked, voice thick.

"If we survive this," she said, a mischievous smile curling her lips, "We are _so_ gonna make out on the back of a tank."

"Huh... bwuh?" he said, looking at her like she'd just told him he had prostate cancer, "Wait, _seriously?_"

"If you do anything _extra_ heroic, I _might_ even pencil you in for an apocalypse baby," Zoey said glibly, "But that'd be for the sequel if the first movie does well in the box office. Making out on a tank at sunset, though, that's the_ perfect_ ending to this movie. Maybe the tank is even firing at zombies in the background."

"You're fuckin' with me," he said with a scowl, "You an' your movie shit. C'mon, gimme a break, Zoey."

"Do you think I'm fucking with you?"

"...yes?" his scowl twitched into an uncertain smile.

"I guess you'd better live so you can find out," she said, getting to her feet with a wince. He'd bandaged up the nastier scratches, but they still stung.

"You're a fuckin' tease," he told her even as his eyes gleamed in amusement, sticking a hand out, "Shake on it, then."

"I'm only shaking on the make-outs," she defined, grabbing his hand and giving it a solid shake, "I at _least _owe you that after all of this. We'll see how things go from there."

He smirked, shook her hand, and then reached out to muss up her hair. Zoey grinned, confident that she'd circumvented _all _their horrible deaths with her deal. She was glib and cheeky in the face of death! Ho ho ho!

"Holdin' you to it," he said, poking her her nose with a finger, "Yer cute ass _ain't_ gettin' out of it."

"Are you two done?" Bill wondered from the door, making both of them look over guiltily. Francis hadn't bothered shutting the door.

"Yeah think so," Francis said, hitching his pants a little, "We doin' this?"

"We're gonna hole up in the hall here, close all the doors," Bill said, "We've got enough rifles and ammo t'mow through a small army, s'hopefully it's enough. When they get here we'll just scoot downstairs and out th'door and get the hell outta Dodge."

"Sounds good to me," Francis said, clapping his hands together, "Let's get this show on the road."

"Check these out," Louis said, handing one of the rifles to Francis, "Just like in a movie, right Zoey? Don't get much more movies than an assault rifle."

"Jesus Christ _enough_ with the movie shit!" Francis exclaimed, exasperated, "Maybe you two should make out instead!"

"Huh?" Louis said, eyeballing Zoey.

"She's gettin' it on with me on the back of a tank if we live," Francis informed Louis, expression smug.

"_Only_ making out!" Zoey protested, shoving at him. He didn't budge an inch. She couldn't pretend to be disgusted by his gleeful lack of shame, however. It made her laugh too hard.

"Yeah, an' if you do anythin' badass," he continued, grinning broadly, "She'll mark yah down for an apocalypse baby. She's takin' orders! Chick is _organized!_"

"_Francis!_"

"Ohh, you're in trouble already man," Louis laughed.

Their laughter was nervous, their banter thin and wan as Bill watched them. He had a ghost of a smile on his face, but it brought her no comfort. Maybe she ought to be savoring these moments a bit more instead of making light of them.

"Ready for this?" Bill asked.

"Yeah," Louis said, "I'll go radio em'."

Francis put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed and she smiled up at him, squeezing his hand before going over to hug Bill.

"Man, Bill, you gotta tell me yer secret," he said, no malice in his voice, "All I get is handshakes."

"Hey, kiddo," Bill said quietly, squeezing her back tightly, "We're gonna make. Nobody left behind. Right?"

"Right," she said, "I never... I never really thanked you guys, by the way. For rescuing me from my dorm."

"Wouldn't change a thing if I could do it twice," the veteran said warmly, "You're a good kid, Zoey."

"Thank me later on the back a' the tank," Francis said. His hand was resting on the small of her back. It felt comfortable there.

"Do I wanna know?" Bill wondered.

"Not really."

"I _warned_ yah 'bout him, kid."

"They're comin' guys," Louis said, "Said that we got about five minutes before the zombies start freakin' out."

"Good," Bill said, easing himself down at the top of the stairs with a grimace. Once he was set up, he reached into his front pocket and tapped out the last smoke in his packet, "Just enough time t'finish this one off."

Zoey crouched down with the others while Bill smoked, concentrating hard as Louis showed her and Francis how to operate the rifle properly. The veteran was quietly impressed with Louis' knowledge, making it known by only occasionally nodding at what he was saying.

She wasn't looking forward to firing it. It was going to hurt her shoulder and rattle her teeth in her skull, but it was only for about five minutes, right? That wasn't such a long time.

Nobody spoke when the all-too-familiar howling rolled in on a soft breeze, accompanying the soft rustling of corn. Zoey shifted her position a bit, checking the gun, frowning slightly. No matter how determined she sounded in her mind just now, everything was _blank_.

She was here with her new family. They had guns, and they had high ground, and they were going to have to do some shooting. Bill was savoring his cigarette, contemplating it as he held it between two fingers. It was such a natural gesture, such an _easy_ one, and she envied that he had something so familiar to hold onto.

Louis looked grim and nervous, but his eyes were determined. His confidence had only flagged once, and she could hardly count it against him. If anyone was convinced they would be making it out of this alive, it was him.

Francis was watching her, and when she looked at him, he winked back. His hard lined face seemed to come alive when he smiled, his harsh scowls softening into something gentle, almost _vulnerable_. Maybe she was biased, reading too much into him, but in this moment, nobodies age or past mattered. They were in this together, to the bitter end.

Nobody would be left behind.

Bam. Bam_bamcrack__**smash**__._

A hand burst through the door and she smirked at it. She'd jumped off her balcony to get away from something like that not too long ago, hadn't she? Zoey braced the rifle against her shoulder and dared the infected to just _try_ her.

It was slow at first. They charged inside in small clumps, easily dispatched. There was time to reload, time to kick away the spent shells and rub their ringing ears. Time to check on each other, make sure everyone was holding it together.

Zoey wasn't even certain when things started to get out of hand. She didn't even feel entirely part of the action as she squeezed the trigger. Small bursts. When it started to pull, release, re-acquire, and squeeze. Brace it against her shoulder again if it felt like it was slipping. Lead the target.

They were upstairs now. The front stairs were too crowded, too thick with bodies both zombies and zombie corpses, and so they'd scaled the walls and burst in the windows.

Louis and herself were covering the doors now, Francis and Bill manning the stairs.

How many minutes had gone by? It felt like hours. It felt like _forever_.

Bill barked orders. They obeyed. The stockpile of ammunition dwindled. She wasn't aware of her body anymore, not her sore finger, her throbbing shoulder, her ringing ears. There were only the infected, and her family, and the guns.

"Hey, _hey! _Listen to _that!_" Louis shouted over the rifle fire, pausing to shove a zombie back before shooting at it, "Sounds like an engine!"

"That's our ride, ladies!" Francis bellowed. He had taken over for Bill, the soldier having shouted himself hoarse not too long ago. Or maybe he'd lost to much blood.

"I'll cover you," Bill said, gritting his teeth when he tried to move his leg.

"Like hell," he said, "That's breakin' the rules!"

"We can't move until they stop!" Louis said, "I... Jesus, why is the house shakin'? Is that the APC?"

It wasn't until she saw the section of house visible from the stairs buckle in that Zoey realized she wasn't in some kind of surreal nightmare – they were surrounded by a relentless horde of zombies, their ride was rolling up, and another one of those massive_ things_ was there. Hadn't they just killed one? Maybe that had been someone else. It all bled together now, and all she knew was that they were moving away from it.

"Guess we ain't takin' the stairs!" Francis exclaimed, shouldering his rifle and picking Bill up like he was a sack of potatoes, slinging the veteran over his shoulder, "Let's cheese it!"

Louis and Zoey fell in behind Francis as he hurried for the master bedroom. The window had been broken out, and that suited him fine. He stepped out onto the awning that hung out around the porch.

"Jump down," Francis said, "Take Bill."

"Goddammit Francis I ain't an invalid!"

"Shut up, Bill," Francis said, helping him down to Louis and Zoey, "I – jeez where do those things _come_ from!? Didn't we _just _kill one!?"

He leapt off of building as a meaty arm thrust through the window behind him, flailing and grasping angrily. It let out a howl of frustration and withdrew.

Zoey could hear growls and coughs and wet blurping from every angle, and the infected clustering around the APC began to mob them again, desperate to take out their blinding rage on _something_.

"Why aren't they _shooting? _Why aren't they _helping?_" she heard herself yell over the din. She and Louis were helping Bill along, the older man trying vainly to keep from slowing them down. Francis plowed through the front, swinging the rifle like a bat when it seemed like bullets weren't enough. The monster in the building was throwing a fit trying to get to the them, and Zoey was sure that the only thing stalling it was the fact that it was trying to just punch through all the walls instead of running around them. It wouldn't take much longer.

The APC rolled to a stop. Nobody got out. For a moment, Zoey thought they might just drive off again. Francis couldn't hold off the crush of zombies forever. She could hear his breathing grow more and more ragged, and she recalled that they'd been at this all night. Since before sundown.

A hydraulic whine filled her with a wash of relief, but it seemed to work the zombies into a higher pitched frenzy and Zoey pulled one pistol, firing into the crowd, certain that every unaimed shot hit something.

"_Fucking army!_" Francis shouted, "Get inside! Get _in!_"

"Go Louis! Help Bill in next!" Zoey shouted, bracing her back against Francis to keep from being jostled over by infected.

Louis climbed in when there was enough room and put his hands out for Bill. He pulled the veteran in, both of them falling back in a tangle of curses, and the APC jerked forward a little.

"HEY!" Louis exclaimed in alarm, banging on the wall, "WAIT A SEC! Zoey! Francis! Get in!"

"I'm... _ah_, I'm _trying!_" Zoey cried, staggering back as more infected swarmed in around them. She put up her arms to protect her face as one came close, snapping at her, and she fell back, sitting down hard next to Francis.

"Shit," he swore, looking down at her, and back up at... something, "Shit, can you get up? I can't really bend down!"

"I'm trying!" she said, grasping at his leg to pull herself up. He swung the rifle around him like he was cutting a swath through a jungle, trying to make a space for her, and she eventually dragged herself to her feet. When she was up, she heard a familiar roar.

The other's had been big, but this one... it didn't even look _vaguely_ human, and it was charging.

Apparently, the soldiers in the APC saw it too, because they started to drive.

"WAIT!" Zoey cried, "Francis, they're _leaving!_"

For the first time in their time together, she saw fear grip him, and when he looked down at her, she started to shake her head. No, _no_ he'd_ better not_.

Francis shouldered the rifle and grabbed the back of her pants and shirt, picking her up even as she shrieked at him not too. He plowed through the horde and heaved her with a grunt. She landed elbows first on the gangplank of the APC and cried out as the pain shocked through her.

There were hands pulling her inside but she struggled against them, pointing out, not daring to look.

"Francis you stupid son of a bitch, get your _ass _in here!" Bill hollered after him, "Hey! _STOP!_"

He pounded on the wall of the APC, but they seemed to take it as more of a '_Drive, drive!_' than a '_Wait a second, we're missing one!_'.

Zoey was on her hands and knees at the top of the gangplank now, reaching one hand out, screaming at him. He was stupid and he was dumb _and she loved him goddammit!_

He made eye contact with for only a moment, but she could tell that he'd heard her. _ Damn it_. She shouldn't have done that. She'd just signed his fucking death warrant! You never shouted that to someone in the middle of a mob!

_You and your stupid fucking movies, Zoey!_ her brain shrieked at her, _This is real and he's going to die and that's all you can think about!_

Francis started to work his way towards them. The APC wasn't driving very quickly, surrounded on all sides by infected, and he made steady progress. The hulking monster, however, wasn't slowed down by infected. It swatted them out of the way irritably, snarling and frothing, tearing up chunks of earth as it charged. Francis kept looking over his shoulder, checking on it, but it became clear to him soon that he wasn't going to outrun it.

So he stopped running.

"_Francis!_" she shrieked.

He turned and stood his ground, holding the assault rifle like it was a spear and the towering zombie was a wooly mammoth.

She couldn't watch. She _had_ too watch.

The hydraulics began to whine. They were raising the plank.

Rearing up on its back legs, the monster roared and prepared to smash its fists down on him, and Francis responded by jamming the business end of the rifle into its belly.

It snorted swatted him like an annoying flea, and he went flying backwards, towards the APC.

He landed on the now horizontal plank with a loud crack. Louis and herself scrambled to drag him in, and it wasn't until the plank sealed them shut inside that she realized what had even happened.

It was all harsh breathing and ragged coughing. There were sounds outside, but they were muffled by the thick steel around them, and Zoey couldn't bring herself to care.

Francis groaned and she scrambled to his side, trying to figure out if he was okay or not. No blood coming out of his ears. That was good.

It was starting to trickle out his mouth, though. That was _bad_.

"Francis?" she asked in a tiny voice, brushing a shaky hand over his brow. It didn't seem like he'd heard her – he didn't even groan in response.

"Jesus Christ did you _see _that shit?" Louis asked breathlessly, "How are we even still _alive?_"

"I'm gonna chew out the son of a bitch in charge of this horseshit operation," Bill growled. In the bright lights of the APC he looked deathly pale, but it didn't make him any less formidable, "They tell us the APC draws a mob a' zombies and they turn up without any _goddamn guns?_"

"_Hnnngh_," Francis muttered, shifting a little and hissing when he did, "Awwww _hell_, I think I broke somethin'."

He coughed harshly, bringing up blood, and Zoey covered her mouth with her hands. She had no idea what to do. Oh god, was he bleeding internally? How long could he last like that? That thing had hit him so hard he'd _sailed through the air_.

"Can yah feel everything, son?" Bill asked him.

"Wish I couldn't," Francis said through his teeth, managing to squint one eye open, "Shit, m'I _that_ bad?"

"You're pretty messed up man."

"Think it broke a rib," the biker muttered, trying to lift an arm to check but not having the strength to do so, squeezing his eyes shut, "Hngh _god_, movin' _hurts_. Musta broke_ every_ rib."

"What the _hell _were you thinkin'?" Bill wondered.

Francis opened his eyes and looked at Zoey, managing a thin, pained smile for her.

"How many was that worth?" he asked her. His voice was thick and strained, and she was positive even talking was causing him a lot of pain.

She put a hand over his mouth and shushed him, wondering absently if the tears spilling down her cheeks were making tracks through the thin layer of grime she was covered in.

"At least ten," she said, "But minus five for making me think you were going to die."

"Still could," he said, making a very distressed noise as he tried to shift his weight slightly, "_Five _huh?"

"Stop moving and shut up," she scolded.

"What's he talkin' about, _five?_" Louis said, "He delirious?"

"I'll tell you later," Zoey said, smirking at the _supremely_ arrogant man bleeding to death on the floor of the APC. They'd only shook on the making out thing, but she much preferred him smug to pain-wracked.

She slipped a hand into his and squeezed it, confident when he squeezed back that everything was going to be all right.

Cut, print. That was a wrap. Zoey settled in next to Francis on the floor, resting her head on his shoulder and listening to his hitched, shallow breathing. This was about all she could have asked for, considering their odds.

_Life is a Highway_ would swell as the camera pulled back on the APC trundling down some dirt road, zombies bouncing uselessly off of the hull.

_Just tell em' we're survivors_, she thought with a smile, closing her eyes.

* * *

_**A.N.:** OMG double update! I hope you enjoyed things all the way through. I am seriously contemplating continuing this now, but it will be posted as a seperate entity so I don't muck this one up too much with my hare brained theories and kooky ideas and froofy romance. I need to take a bit of a breather after that writing marathon, so until next time, thank you for your constant support and encouragement! It was really great to have so much positive feedback from you all. _:)


End file.
